Still Unbroken
by OpheliaOddball
Summary: This story follows Miriana Westchild, a close friend of the Winchesters on her journey through season 4 supernatural and her relationship with a certain angel. There will be CastielxOC. Reads better than it sounds, I'm terrible at summaries!
1. Stormy May Day

_Hi guys, so this is my first fanfic and I'm kind of nervous about putting it up in case people hate it but I've done my best. Constructive criticism is appreciated but please don't be too mean!_

_Anyway, this story centres on my OC Miriana Westchild, a friend of the Winchesters and will follow her journey through season 4, and eventually to season 5 when we get it properly in England; at the moment I'm reduced to watching season 5 in crappy quality on youtube. I'll try to update regularly but college and A-levels take up a lot of time. Anyway hope you guys enjoy it!!_

_***_

_This weather can't be a good sign._

Miriana Westchild sat in her black Mercedes, watching the rain hammer down onto the tarmac of the road, listening to the distant grumble of thunder from the darkened, angry sky. She had been waiting for him to arrive outside the diner on the other side of the road for over half an hour now, just sat in her car whilst the raging storm outside got heavier and heavier, and she was beginning to get impatient. In the few meetings they'd had over the past few years, he'd never been late. Not once. It was worrying. And the weather was _really _not a good sign. Third thunderstorm in two weeks. Very bad. Call it a hunter's intuition.

In her nervousness, she fiddled with the radio, twisting the dial back and forth, trying to find a decent radio station, but she couldn't get a good reception on any of the frequencies. Probably to do with the storm, she thought to herself. Or hoped. She gave up on the radio and turned it off, cutting off the sound of static from the car, and instead turned her attention to her mobile, but there were no new messages or missed calls. She counted it as a good thing. Every time somebody had left her a message or called her it had been nothing but bad news, and she was getting tired of hearing nothing but bad news from everyone she spoke to. It only reminded her of how dark the world was becoming. She put her mobile back in her pocket and returned to staring out of the window at the ferocious weather, tapping her fingers nervously on the armrest of her seat, drumming a frantic rhythm on the leather. She was considering putting her keys in the ignition and driving off through sheer impatience when she saw him standing under the shelter of the diners sign, watching her like he'd been stood there all along. With a sigh she pulled up the hood of her long black coat and opened the car to step out into the lashing rain. She dashed across the half flooded road before any cars threatened to knock her over, but there wasn't much traffic on the road. She reached the pavement and stopped, standing a few feet away from him, unsure of what to do or say.

"Miriana," he stated. _That's about as much a hello as I'm going to get from this guy_, she thought. He wasn't one for overly friendly introductions.

"Seth," she said in reply.

She hadn't seen him in over a year, and he looked different. Hunted. He'd always been thin, but now he looked unhealthy and starved, like he hadn't seen a good meal for ages. He wore tattered, mud splattered jeans and a long black Mac that was just as weather-beaten as his jeans. His hair was lank and hung down his face in unkempt locks of pale brown, and there was a thick layer of stubble across his chin and down his neck. He looked completely dishevelled and battered, but it was his eyes that scared her most; they were sunken and strangely dead, like the light had gone out of them, as if he were dead and just a walking corpse. Something terrible must have happened to him since the last time she had seen him just after the devil's gates had been opened in Wyoming. But he always had been somewhat...troubled. Losing all the people you cared about tended to do that to a person.

"Jesus Christ Seth, you look like hell!" Miriana exclaimed. _State the obvious, much._

His eyes flickered away from her face at the rain drenched pavement, then back to her. There was something in his eyes she couldn't quite read.

"Yeah well, it's been a hell of a year. Excuse me for looking a bit rough."

"Sorry," Miriana mumbled. She couldn't think of anything else to say. They stood there for a few seconds longer in the stinging rain.

"Look, let's just cut to the chase shall we Seth. You called me, you arranged this meeting, so you want to talk about it in there?" she gestured towards the diner, which looked warm and welcoming to Miriana, who was stood shivering in the rain.

His eyes flickered towards the door of the diner and back to Miriana again, "No, we can't talk in there. They might be listening."

"They?" Miriana questioned, raising her eyebrows. Seth flashed a quick humourless, smile.

"You know who I mean Miriana. I don't need to tell you. We're both hunters."

"Right. Well can't you just tell me, whatever it is? I have to set off for Minnesota soon. I got wind of a voodoo case down there. I promised Bobby Singer I'd check it out, and I like to keep my promises."

Seth's face brightened for a few, brief seconds. "Bobby? How is he? And the Winchesters? Or should I say Winchester. I heard about Dean."

"Bobby's fine. I haven't spoken to Sam since...it happened. I can't reach him." She swallowed hard and looked down at the pavement. "It's been...hard for all of us."

"I'm sorry," Seth said quietly, and he sounded like he meant it. When she looked up at his face, she saw a spark of compassion in his eyes. Not such a walking corpse after all, then. "I know Dean meant a lot to you."

"Look Seth, I'm not in the mood for caring and sharing. Will you just get to the point please?" she said in her best clipped, business voice and folded her arms across her chest.

"Fine," he said, and the coldness returned to his eyes and voice, "I've been hearing whispers ever since Dean was dragged into the pit. Something big is going down." He looked up and down the street and behind him, and shifted uncomfortably. It was almost as if he was expecting someone to pounce at any second.

"What exactly is going down?" Miriana asked, dropping her voice a little lower. She wasn't as paranoid as Seth, but it wouldn't be good if they were overheard by anyone.

"I can't tell you exactly because I don't know. The whispers are rather...blurred."

By whispers Miriana presumed he meant his visions and the voices he heard in his sleep that he first started receiving around his twenty second birthday. It always scared her whenever he started talking about his visions and the things he saw. It just wasn't natural.

"Is that it? You're always hearing _whispers _Seth what's so different about these?" she was getting impatient now. She didn't appreciate being stood in the pouring down rain while some half crazy psychic boy fed her cryptic clues that led nowhere.

"Lilith she's... she's...planning something. Something very big and very dangerous. You need to watch your back Miriana. The storms coming."

Miriana cast a glance at the darkened sky, "Looks to me like it's already arrived."

Seth glanced up at the sky too, then back to Miriana, "Not the kind of storm I'm talking about."

"Lilith's a bad bitch, I already know that. What makes her so different from every other bad bitch I've faced?"

Seth glanced up and down the street and behind him again and shivered in a sudden blast of cold wind that swept down the street and hit Miriana like an icy blade. A particularly loud boom of thunder sounded above Miriana's head and she jumped at the sudden burst of noise. A pale white fork of lightning split the sky in half, illuminating the grey darkness of the storm for a few seconds. The rain intensified.

"Look Miriana I can't tell you anything else. They're coming, I can sense it," he said in a hushed voice. She could see a new emotion in his eyes, and it looked like panic; he looked like a rabbit facing a fox bearing down upon it. She touched his arm; half trying to comfort him, half trying to stop him from running off before she got the truth from him. He was very good at disappearing and could be a hard person to find if he chose to be. Miriana would have found it nearly impossible to find him if her hadn't contacted her first. But with the life he led, she supposed being able to vanish off the face of the earth was a particularly useful skill.

He looked up at her, and she could see the fear in his eyes. He took her hands in his and pulled her a little closer. His hands were surprisingly warm, despite the cold rain.

"Be careful Miriana," his voice was low and urgent and she felt his hand tighten on hers as he spoke, "And Sam Winchester, watch out for him."

"Yeah I will, he's like my younger brother, I-"

"That's not what I mean!" his voice suddenly got louder, and his hands tightened even more firmly on hers, until it was almost painful. The wind picked up in intensity so the rain began to sting Mirianas' exposed hands and face, and another thunderclap rattled Mirianas' eardrums.

"Watch him, he's dangerous, to you to everyone!" his panicked eyes settled on something behind Miriana for a second before his eyes returned to hers once again.

"I have to go," Seth said, and he let go of her hands and started to walk into the road. Miriana turned and watched him with bewildered eyes.

"For Christ's sake Seth, you can't just leave it at that! What's Lilith planning? And what the hell do you mean Sam Winchester's dangerous? What's he going to do?" she was forced to shout over the combined noise of the thunder, the rain and the howling wind. She flapped her hands in frustration and shouted again at his retreating figure as he cut a path through the sheeting rain. "SETH!! What's going to happen?!"

On the opposite pavement he stopped and turned to look at her. Even across the distance she could see the conflict raging as fierce as the storm in his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, and a white hot bolt of lightning struck him in the middle of the chest. He stood stock still for a few seconds, his face a mask of surprise, his mouth open in an almost comical way, and then he fell to the pavement, his grey eyes blank, a mirror for the stormy grey sky above.

Miriana stood, frozen by shock, and just stared at his body lying on the pavement, unable to move or speak or make any coherent thought apart from the fact that she had just watched Seth die. She couldn't unlock her frozen legs even to go to him and check for a pulse, or find her voice to call for help.

Around her, people began running out of the diner and the shops on the street with exclamations and cries of horror. A tide of people flowed around her but she still couldn't move or unfreeze herself to follow them. Someone screamed "call 911!" and a woman close to Miriana pulled out her mobile and dialled the number, then began speaking frantically into the mouthpiece, but the words were lost in the noise of the storm and the people milling around her. A man bent down next to Seth's' body and put his fingers to his throat. He stood up, and the loud muddle if voices fell quiet. The woman next to Miriana was still jabbering away into her mobile.

"He's dead," he said in a shocked voice, and an elderly woman in the small crowd of people gasped and covered her mouth with her hands.

Those words seemed to unlock Mirianas frozen senses and she ran across the road to where Seth lay, splashing more water upon her sodden back jeans and coat. His Mac and the t-shirt underneath had been burned away completely by the heat of the lightning bolt, showing the horrifically melted skin underneath. Miriana had always had a strong stomach; in her job it was a necessity, but the sight of Seth lying mangled and burned in the vicious rain, and his cold lifeless face staring at the heavy sky turned her stomach. _Bloody hell. It burned him right where he stood. _She fought the insane urge to laugh. _Getting struck by lightning like that only happens in cartoons, right?_

Beside her a woman touched her arm and looked up at her with a kind face.

"Did you know him dear?" she asked in a kindly voice, peering up at Miriana through the rain.

"Uh...yeah, I did. I've known him for a long time, actually," she still felt oddly hollow, as if someone had just sucked the contents of her stomach out. She couldn't seem to look away from Seth's body. In a horrible way it reminded her of how Dean had looked lying in that house after the Hellhounds had ripped him to shreds, mangled and destroyed. She just counted herself lucky she had arrived too late to actually see Dean get ripped apart. Counted herself lucky she hadn't heard his screams of pain.

"I'm sorry dear," the old woman said in a soft voice, "terrible things really do happen in our world don't they?"

Miriana blinked and came to her senses, brought herself back to the cold, rain washed street and all the people milling around Seth's body.

"Yeah. They certainly do."

She made her way down the street, leaving the crowd and the body behind her, and opened her car and climbed into the comforting warmth. She pulled her mobile out of her pocket and dialled the first number she thought of.

"Bobby, we need to talk. Desperately."

***


	2. Back In Black

_Hi guys, this is the second chapter, hope you enjoyed the first. There will be some hints at CastielxOC later in the next couple of chapters. Anyway, hope you like it!!_

_***_

A few hours later, she was driving towards Bobby's house, her mind still buzzing with the conversation with Seth, and all the cryptic clues he had dropped her. She found it difficult to believe that the lightning bolt had been mere coincidence. He had been about to tell her something really significant, about to tell her the secret he was so frightened to say out loud. Demons were powerful, they could do all sorts of things, and Miriana saw Seth's' death as murder, not a freak accident. She didn't know how they'd done it, but she felt certain it was them. He must have been about to tell her something huge if it warranted that kind of action. _What the hell did he know?_

Miriana had known Seth since she was a lonely teenager at high school in New Richmond in Maine. He had been the only one to befriend her, as nobody else had wanted to make friends with the weird, posh English girl. She was a freak. Seth was a freak too. So they fitted quite well together.

They lost touch over the years, as Miriana had gone her own way, driving all across America, hunting, and Seth had...well God knows what Seth had done. But the next time she saw him after high school he had changed almost beyond recognition. He was always different to everyone else, but in the time they had been apart he seemed to have lost his mind a little. Miriana still didn't know why, and now she never would find out.

She stared out at the driving rain that was hammering against the windshield. It seemed the storm was following her, like she had her own personal weather front. Well, the terrible weather certainly matched her terrible mood. The shock over Seth's death had faded to be replaced by anger and frustration. She wasn't a fan of cryptic clues. She may have an analytical mind, but she was not in the right frame of mind to ponder over a mysterious message, and more in the mood to kill something. Preferably something demonic. Seth's sudden and violent death reminded her with a savage jerk about Cristian, when he had died. She had been so lost without him, and she still was, but with an effort she forced the memories out of her head. She never let herself think about him. It hurt too much.

She slowed her car a little as she reached the turning in the road that led to Bobby's' house. She drove the car into his drive and parked her car alongside a battered truck with half the bonnet missing. She wondered how many more beat up, smashed cars Bobby needed in his yard. The rain was already beginning to lessen slightly, and a weak, pale yellow sun was trying to fight its way through the clouds. She stepped onto Bobby's' porch and banged with her fist twice on the door. There were a few seconds of silence, then the door opened to show Dean Winchester.

"Hey Miriana. You're looking good."

***

Miriana felt as if someone had just punched her in the stomach, so much so that she didn't even feel she had enough air in her lungs to say anything. She just stood there, opening and closing her mouth, trying to get the words out. She must have looked pretty comical, as a smirk lit up Deans' face.

"Hell, Miriana I know I'm stunningly attractive but you're never usually lost for words!"

Her mind was still reeling from the shock of seeing him. _You're dead_ she thought to herself_ you can't be here!_ She couldn't seem to get her head around his sudden appearance. She didn't think she could take any more shocks in one day. Her mind might just give out. With a start, she came back to herself, and the logical part of her brain screamed _demon!_

She bent down and whipped out the short silver blade she kept strapped to the side of her clumpy black boots and swept it towards his throat. He stepped back and dodged the swing, then jumped to one side again as she tried to jam the knife squarely into his chest.

"Who are you?!" she shouted, swinging the knife again, "Where's Bobby? What have you done with him you bastard?!"

He caught her upraised hand as she tried to stab him again and twisted her wrist sharply. She shrieked in pain and the knife dropped to the floor with a metallic clatter. With her other fist she tried to punch him in the side of his face but he moved his head quickly to the side and her fist hit the air beside his head.

"Miriana stop, stop, it's me OK?! It's me! Quit trying to kill me!" Dean shouted.

"The hell you are!"

"Miriana!?"

She stopped struggling for a second when she heard Bobby's' voice, and her eyes focused on him where he stood behind Dean.

"It's him, OK, it's really him! I've been through everything, silver knife and holy water and everything," Bobby explained while Dean nodded enthusiastically.

Mirianas' eyes went from Bobby to Dean and back again.

"You're certain?" she asked.

"Hundred percent."

She was aware that Dean was still holding her fist in his hand, and her other arm was still upraised for a punch. She looked back at Dean.

"You can let go of my hand now. I promise I won't kill you."

He hesitated for a second, then let go of her hand, and she dropped her other fist. She looked Dean straight in the eyes.

"It's really you?"

"Yeah. Look I don't know how-"

He stopped short when Miriana whipped out a tiny silver flask engraved with a cross and splashed the contents into Deans' face. He blinked rapidly a few times, and then wiped the water of his face with a loud sigh.

"Will people stop chucking holy water on me please? I'm not a demon!" he snapped, and glared at Miriana, as satisfied he wasn't burning and screaming at the touch of holy water, replaced the flask in a pocket in her long coat.

"Sorry! I had to check didn't I?"

There was an awkward silence for a few seconds as she tried to think of the right thing to say. She cleared her throat to break the silence.

"It's good to see you Dean."

"Yeah, it's good to see you too."

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and squared his shoulders in a macho sort of way. Miriana cleared her throat again.

"Do we have to hug, or anything?"

"No chick flick moments," Miriana stated. She stood for another few seconds, then threw her arms around Deans neck and rested her head on his shoulder. She felt his arms wrap around her waist and he patted her on the small of her back. She hugged him as tight as she could for a few seconds longer, and then released him with a hard slap on the shoulder. He slapped her back.

"Well that was awkward. Can we move past this touchy-feely-huggy stuff?" Dean asked._ Well, he definitely hasn't changed._

"Of course.

She stood back and surveyed him with a critical eye, from head to toe.

"Well, I've got to say Dean you're looking good. Especially considering you were ripped to shreds by Lilith's' guard dog and you've been dead for four months. How the hell did you manage to walk out of the pit?"

"I wish I could tell you," Dean said with a sigh, "I think someone just grabbed me and dragged me out. But whoever or whatever it is, it's a bad mother. Like I told Bobby, the grave site looked like someone had dropped a bomb on it; the trees were flattened for a mile around the grave. And when I was in this truck stop, something passed over me, like...A presence, or whatever." at Mirianas' sceptical look he said, "Look, I don't know I'm not into all this new age crap, you know that. But it was powerful. Blew the glass out of the windows and nearly deafened me. And there's this."

He rolled up the sleeve of his t-shirt to show the hand shaped burn on his upper arm.

"Bloody hell!" Miriana exclaimed, reaching out tentatively and brushing the tip of her fingers against the scar. She looked up at Dean.

"Does it hurt?" Miriana asked, probing the mark carefully; her medical training began to kick in at the sight of the burn.

"No. Not at all. But that's gotta be some bad mojo right? I mean, what can just yank me out of hell like that?" Dean asked, rolling down the sleeve of his t-shirt as Miriana stepped back, frowning.

"I didn't think anything could just snatch a soul from hell. And not only that, snatch a soul from hell and bring a person's body back after four months in the ground. Have you got any clues, Bobby?" Miriana looked past Dean to where Bobby was stood in the entrance to his library.

"Not yet. Haven't really had chance to look. We were gonna go and find Sam first. Dean's activated the GPS tracking in his phone. He's in Pontiac, Illinois."

Mirianas' frown intensified, "That's where you were buried," she said to Dean. She looked between Dean and Bobby, reading the expressions on their faces.

"You think Sam's done something, don't you? Think he's made a deal?" she questioned. Dean sighed loudly.

"Yeah, well, I don't really know what to think, but...it's what I would do, in his shoes."Miriana nodded and rubbed a hand across her forehead.

"Look, I'm sorry Dean, I should have made more of an effort in looking out for him, I mean he's as much my little brother as yours, I-"

Dean held up a hand to stop her. "I know. It's OK. I can't expect you to run around after him when he doesn't wanna be found. You're not his mother. It's not easy to find that kid when he doesn't want to be found. I don't blame you."

"I know, but still. I should've tried harder," she ran a hand through her black hair and sighed. "So, you're setting off to see Sam now?" she asked.

"Yeah, if we shagass we should make it there by sundown," Dean said, "You coming?"

"I'll follow you down, but while we're there, I'm going to visit an old friend's house. A psychic. It was actually what I was visiting Bobby about. He's dead. Died this morning."

Dean and Bobby both looked a little taken aback. "I'm sorry."

"Well, it's the way he died that was the problem. He had something to tell me, but he never really got to the point. But he knew something. Something huge. Something that scared the holy crap out of him."

Dean exchanged a worried glance with Bobby. "He tell you what that was?"

"No. He died before he could. Struck by lightning, if you'll believe it. And I don't think it was an unfortunate freak accident, if you get my meaning."

"Demons?" Dean inquired. Miriana nodded.

"Of course it is. It always is, have you noticed?"

"The point is, he told me Lilith was planning something, that the storm was coming. He told me to watch my back."

"Well he was a cheery soul wasn't he?" Dean said with a roll of his eyes.

"Yes well, Seth was a somewhat...troubled person," Miriana sighed and ran a hand through her hair again, "I want to check his house to see if I can find any information on what he was trying to tell me. He hadn't been back to his house in ages, he was living his life in the back of his car, but I might find something if I'm lucky."

"Right, well I'll go and get the car sorted," Dean announced, striding towards the back door.

Bobby headed towards the door as well, but Miriana caught his arm before he left.

"Bobby, I need to tell you something else. Seth told me that I would have to watch out for Sam."

Bobby dismissed her statement with a shrug of his shoulders. "So, everyone says that. I mean, he is like your little brother. You're as good as family to the Winchesters."

He headed for the door once more, but Miriana stopped him again.

"No, Seth said I had to watch him because he's dangerous. To me and everyone. Like he's going to do something terrible. But, he didn't exactly specify why, just that he was bad news."

Bobby frowned and narrowed his eyes. "Why would he say something like that?" he asked.

"I don't know Bobby, but Seth was never wrong when it came to predictions and all that weirdo psychic stuff. In fact, I'm pretty sure he was one of Azazels' gifted children. Like Sam."

"Would he lie to you?" Bobby questioned, but Miriana shook her head.

"No. He never lied to me once, not in all the time I knew him. And why would he lie about that?"

Bobby sighed and shook his head. "What the hell is going on, Miriana?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "I wish I knew."

Just then, Dean leaned around the doorway with a frustrated expression on his face.

"You coming or what?" he demanded.


	3. Burn the Evidence

_Third chapter up; hope you're enjoying the story, it picks up as bit more soon. _

Miriana followed behind Dean and Bobby to Pontiac, down seemingly endless highways and long stretches of dark, rain washed road. The dull grey light of day was beginning to fade into a deep black night. _The world is getting darker, _she thought to herself.

Dean and Bobby turned left down the road that led to the motel Sam was staying at, and Miriana instead turned right, travelling deeper into the town where Seth's' apartment was located. She carried on driving until she reached Parkway road, a dark, seedy looking street in the heart of Pontiac. She parked her car in the street, in the pool of light shining out from a cracked lamppost. She climbed out of the car, surreptitiously running her fingers over the comforting coldness of her gun which was strapped in a holder underneath her long leather jacket. She didn't trust this part of the town; it felt dangerous to her, and she felt certain she could feel the distant echo of demons lingering in the cold night air. She crossed the deserted road to the entrance to a tall, crumbling building in the middle of the street. It was crowded on both sides by grim offices with dirt streaked windows and grime covered bricks. The whole street had a feeling of disuse and disrepair, and the pitch blackness of the night that lurked outside the safety of the light from the streetlamps did nothing to alleviate Mirianas sense of foreboding. She walked carefully into the entrance of the apartment block; there was nobody at the desk in the lobby, so Miriana passed into the lift unnoticed. She had to jab the button for the fifth floor three times before the lift light winked on, and the ancient piece of machinery clunked and groaned into life. It began to rise painfully slowly, juddering several times on the way. Whilst she was waiting for the lift to work its' way to the fifth floor, Mirianas' thoughts turned to Dean and Sam, and hoping that he had found his younger brother in one piece. She was hoping with all of her heart that Sam hadn't made a deal, leading to a repeat of the past year and all the heartache that had come with it. _What is it with the Winchesters and deals? First John, then Dean, now Sam._

The lift finally reached the fifth floor and the battered doors opened with a rattling clang, revealing a dirty grey tiled hallway that stank of bleach and made Mirianas' nose burn. There were empty beer bottles and burnt cigarette ends scattered across the floor; to a neat freak like Miriana the whole apartment was her idea of hell to live in. She grimaced as she picked her way down the sticky, grungy hallway to apartment 23. Seth's' apartment.

She pulled a paperclip out of her pocket and knelt down by the lock and twisted the paperclip back and forth until she heard a sharp click, and the door swung open with a creak, showing the musty darkness inside. Miriana stepped inside, shut the splintered wooden door behind her and flipped the light on. A bare light bulb burst into life, throwing its harsh, cold light over the tiny apartments' living room and kitchen. With a quick glance around, it was obvious that Seth hadn't been home in quite some time. There was an accumulation of letters and mail piled up behind the door, and the room had a thick layer of dust lying over every piece of furniture. _God it would drive me crazy living in here,_ Miriana thought to herself, looking around at the threadbare furniture, dingy grey carpet and blank white walls. There was nothing personal in the room, no pictures or posters, no CD's or books, no insight into what the man who had been living in this apartment was like.

She didn't really know what she was looking for, so she just rifled through the drawers of the kitchen units; she found nothing but cutlery and bits of stationery. She left the kitchen and opened one of the two doors facing her; it was the bathroom, and it was just as shabby and dingy as the rest of the apartment, the once white tiles now coloured a dirty shade of grey. She opened a medicine cabinet attached to the wall and found a cocktail of prescription drugs on the shelves. _No wonder he looked such a mess, _Miriana mused,_ he was probably addicted to all of these._ She replaced the plastic bottles of drugs in the cabinet with a sigh and left the bathroom.

The only other room in the apartment was Seth's' bedroom, and the only furniture in the room was an old bed that had sagged in the middle, and an old wardrobe whose doors where hanging at an odd angle. She opened the wardrobe to show a few pairs of tattered jeans and dark shirts, and scattered at the bottom of the wardrobe was a pile of dusty books. She rifled through them; there were a few paperback fiction books, several heavy duty looking tomes of Demonology and the occult, and right at the bottom of the pile, a plain black leather book. Her interest piqued, Miriana picked up the book, sat on the bed and flipped it open. It was a diary. Seth's' diary._ This ought to be interesting._

It started about a year ago, and the first entry was about Lilith, and there were pages and pages of jagged writing about the demon and her coven. She flicked through the worn pages of the diary, but she couldn't see much that she didn't already know. She kept flicking until she reached the last entry that had been made three weeks ago. The convoluted ramblings of Seth's' mind were difficult to decipher, but the last entry was the worst of all of them. She could tell from the tone of his writing that he had been frightened, just like he had been the last time she'd seen him. There were weird sketches and drawings around the edge of the page, some of which Miriana recognised, others of which she had never seen before. Something at the bottom of that page, the sixty six seals, rang a dim bell in Mirianas' memory, but she couldn't remember the details. She decided it might be worthwhile to keep the diary for now. There could be something useful in it, but she needed more time to work through Seth's' confused and twisted thoughts. She stood up, and as she did, she noticed something on the ledge of the window. She ran her fingers across the warped wood of the ledge and they came away dusted with a light yellow powder, the strong smell of which made her feel faintly ill. Sulphur. Demons had been here. Looking for him. _So he definitely knew something major._

Miriana left the bedroom, flipping off the light as she went, her mind full of thoughts of Seth and his short and difficult life. Clutching his battered leather diary in her hands, Miriana headed towards the door. She opened it, then turned and took one last lingering look at the faded, grungy apartment that contained all of Seths' life, then turned off the light and shut the door behind her.


	4. No One Knows

_Hi guys, fourth chapters up, reveiws would be great if you guys have some time. Thanks loads!_

Miriana shut the door of the apartment with a sigh and walked slowly towards the lift. It took a frustratingly long time to reach the ground floor, so Miriana had another quick flick through Seth's' diary; page after page of spindly writing scratched onto the paper. It would take a long time to decipher and make sense of the ramblings of his mind.

The lift reached the ground floor with a loud thud that rattled Mirianas' bones. The doors opened into the dingy lobby, the bare light bulb shining its' flickering light over the room. The second Miriana stepped out of the lift, a fist came flying towards her face. She ducked underneath the swing, thanking her quick reflexes, and sidestepped her unknown assailant as he brought his other arm up for a punch. Miriana looked up to see the face of her attacker, and saw the complete liquid black of his eyes._ Oh crap. Demon._

He slammed his open palm into her chest and Miriana flew backwards and crashed against the wall, the air whooshing out of her lungs, feeling her shoulders bruising from where she made contact with the wall. He strode across the lobby for another attack, and Miriana scrabbled frantically in the pocket of her coat until her fingers closed around the cool metal of the silver flask in her pocket. With one swift movement she unscrewed the cap and flung the contents at the oncoming demon. It splashed across his face and neck, leaving steaming curls of smoke rising from his skin. The demon roared in pain, and Miriana took the opportunity whilst the demon was doubled over in pain to slip her blessed silver knife out of its' sheath on her boot and drive the blade across the demons' arm, leaving a deep bloody gash behind. He hit the floor with a loud thump, and Miriana pinned his legs beneath hers and trapped his arms in place with her hands. He struggled and spat underneath her, and for a second Miriana was worried that she wouldn't be able to hold him, but he was surprisingly weak and he stopped struggling when she placed the silver knife to his throat.

"That won't kill me," the demon snorted, though his eyes were wide with panic.

"No, but it'll hurt like a bitch. Might even be enough to drive you from your meat suit!"

At this the demon worked his arm free and his fist crashed into the side of her face. She rocked back, but she kept him pinned. Her cheek throbbed painfully, and she could taste the metallic sting of blood in her mouth. She spat the mouthful of blood onto the floor, and turned back to the hissing demon, pressing the knife tighter to his throat.

"Now you've really pissed me off!" Miriana snapped, "Why are you here huh? After this?" She pulled the leather bound diary from her pocket and waved it before the demons nose. He said nothing, but the look in his eyes told her the truth.

"Why? What did he know that you don't want us to know?"

"No way I'd tell you, bitch," the demon spat. Miriana pressed the blade harder into his neck, hard enough to nick the skin so dark crimson blood spilled over the blade.

"Why?!" she shouted, her voice echoing in the lobby.

"Look I don't know, OK!" he shouted back.

She pressed the knife even tighter still; the demon choked a little as she pressed down savagely hard on his windpipe.

"I swear I don't know! At my pay grade, they don't tell me anything. All they said was that I had to get that diary before any hunters lay their hands on it. I swear that's all I know!"

She surveyed the demon for a long second, and then shook her head.

"Well I know one thing. You're not getting away with this. No, I think you're going to take a trip downstairs instead."

She opened her mouth to recite the words of Latin she had known off by heart since she was a child, preparing to exorcize the demon, but before she could utter so much as a single syllable, the demon tipped his head back and a huge dark cloud of black smoke poured out of his mouth and drifted out through the doors of the lobby and into the night. Miriana blinked in surprise, her mind reeling for a few seconds, then she leaned down and pressed two fingers to his throat; she felt a fast, weak pulse. She stood up, and left the lobby quickly. It would probably be better if she left before the man the demon had possessed woke up and started asking awkward questions. She stepped into the chill of the night air, keeping her hand on the handle of her knife, looking back and forth down the dark street. She ran across the road, paranoia keeping her moving quickly towards her car where it was parked in the halo of light emanating from the streetlamp. She climbed into the driver's seat and rummaged in the glove box for tissues to wipe the blood away from her mouth. She leaned back against the leather seats and massaged her temples, which had begun to throb and ache. She looked down at the diary that she was still clutching in her hands. Yes, something big was definitely happening in the demon world. Something they were desperate to stop Miriana or any other hunters from knowing.

She dropped the diary onto the passenger seat and pushed her keys into the ignition, starting the car with a quiet purr. Sam and Dean would want to know what had happened. She stepped down on the accelerator, driving away from the dark seedy street.

***

Miriana parked her car in the parking lot of the rundown little motel Sam was staying at. She took the diary off the passenger seat and dropped it into the boot of her car, on the bottom of which was drawn a devils trap to keep any demons away from the stash of weapons Miriana had in her car. As she walked across the car park, she saw Bobby's' car, and a few spaces down, Deans' beloved Impala, shining faintly in the light from the lights of the motel. She asked at the reception for Wedge Antilles, the pseudonym Sam always used, according to Dean, and walked down the long corridors until she reached room 701. She knocked on the door. Dean answered, a smile on his face, which fell at the sight of the bruise spreading across her cheek. He pulled her into the room and instantly began drilling her with questions.

"Who did this?" he demanded, gingerly touching the bruise on her cheekbone with the tips of his fingers. Miriana sighed loudly and batted his hand away.

"Calm down, will you Dean? It's nothing, just a little bruise. I've had worse."

"No, I won't calm down. Who the hell did this?" he demanded again.

"A demon, alright. He jumped me in the lobby of Seth's' apartment building and managed to get a good swing at me before I pinned him down. He was looking for something in Seth's' apartment, a diary. He ditched out of his meat suit before I could exorcise him myself."

At the concerned look still on Deans' face, Miriana waved her hands airily.

"It's nothing. Really." Miriana looked away from Deans' concerned face to see Sam leaving the bathroom; the changes in him shocked her. She hadn't seen him in over three months, but there was something drastically different about him. It had been a difficult time for him, she understood that; it had been incredibly difficult for her too. But it was deeper than that. It was nothing physical, but there was something in his eyes that was different. Dangerous. Unbidden, Seth's' words came into her head. _He's dangerous to you, to everybody._ She pushed the thoughts out of her head, and instead tried to focus on how happy she was to see him.

"Hey, Sammy," she said quietly and gave him a small smile. He stepped forwards and she threw her arms around his broad shoulders. He hugged her back, nearly lifting her off the floor. He released her, and then she took a step backwards and slapped him around the face. His hand flew to his cheek in surprise, and a bewildered look crossed his face.

"Why didn't you call me, you stupid bastard. I was worried sick, I had no idea what happened to you!" she stepped back and surveyed him, "I could punch you into next week, Samuel Winchester."

He smiled. "I'd like to see you try!"

She slapped his shoulder again, and then turned back to Dean and Bobby.

"So? Did he pimp his soul to a demon?" she questioned.

Dean shook his head and sighed. "No. He didn't. Which leaves us with a huge problem. We still have to figure out who brought me back and why."

Dean handed Miriana a beer, and she took a long, refreshing swig. She turned back to Sam.

"Do you have any ideas?" she asked him, but he shook his head.

"I don't know. Probably demons. That's the whole reason I'm here; about a week ago, I saw omens pointing to Pontiac. Demons came here, so I figured I'd follow them."

Miriana and Dean exchanged a glance. "I'll bet you they're here because of you Dean," she said, "Makes you kind of like a celebrity. You've got the demon paparazzi following you around"

Dean grinned, "I know. I love it."

"It's not a good thing, Dean," said Sam, with a long suffering glance at his brother.

Miriana sat down on the nearest bed and rubbed her temples again.

"Well, this leaves us with a huge problem. Who pulled you out?"


	5. Burn Baby Burn

_Hi, hope you like my story so far and don't think it's too bad. And OMG i'm loving season 5 of supernatural atm, even though I'm having to watch it on youtube!_

_***_

A few hours later, Miriana was once again following behind Dean and Bobby, although now Dean and Sam were travelling in the Impala, much to Deans' delight. Dean had the air of a parent being reunited with a long lost son, or, in Mirianas' opinion, more like a child getting their favourite toy back. She was following the Impala and Bobby's' battered old car down to Pamela's' house, a physic friend of Bobby's' and an old acquaintance of Mirianas'. She had called on Pamela several times in the past when she had needed help with tracking a demon or contacting a spirit. She knew for a fact that she could find whatever it was that had pulled Dean out of hell and dumped him back into his new, healed body. As she stared out at the long, windswept road, empty apart from their small convoy of cars, she wondered if she was really prepared to find out what the mystery creature was. _I guess I don't have a choice. _

They finally pulled into Pamela's' drive, and Miriana followed Bobby and the brothers up to her front porch. The door opened to show Pamela, a slim woman with loosely curling dark hair and piercing green eyes. She smiled widely at the sight of them.

"Bobby!" she exclaimed, wrapping her arms around Bobby and lifting him clean off the floor with a laugh. She turned to Miriana and squeezed her too, pushing the air out of her lungs painfully, then released her and ruffled her short hair so hard it stood up on end, much to Deans' amusement, evidenced by the silent fit of giggles he dissolved into. Whilst she smoothed her hair flat, she shot Dean a filthy glare.

"Don't be so puerile," she snapped, "You too," she added, after she caught Sam smirking behind his hand.

"You're a sight for sore eyes," Bobby said to Pamela with a smile. She turned her light green eyes to Sam and Dean.

"So, are these the boys?" she asked.

"Sam, Dean, Pamela Barnes, the best damn psychic in the state."

"Hey," said Dean, with a crooked grin on his face.

"Hi," Sam said, with an awkward little wave.

"Mm-Mm," her eyes raked up and down Dean, "Dean Winchester. Out of the fire and back in the frying pan huh? Makes you a rare individual."

Dean smirked, "If you say so."

Pamela gave a wide smile then stepped aside to let them in, "Come on in."

"So, you heard anything?" Bobby questioned as he stepped into Pamela's' hall, followed by Dean, Sam and Miriana.

"Well," Pamela said, shutting the front door behind her, "I ouja'd my way through a dozen spirits, but no one seems to know who broke your boy out, or why."

"So what's next?" Bobby asked.

"A séance I think, see if we can see who did the deed."

Miriana and Bobby exchanged an alarmed glance, "Please don't tell me you're going to summon the bloody thing here?" Miriana exclaimed, her eyebrows knitting together. The idea of willingly summoning a demon was not high up in her to do list.

Pamela patted her arm in a comforting way, "No, I just wanna get a sneak peak at it, like a crystal ball without the crystal," Pamela explained.

Dean shrugged, "I'm game."

They followed Pamela into her cluttered living room, which was filled with books and objects for just about every arcane subject in the world. Miriana wandered over to a side table, running her fingers over piles of crystals and tarot cards, whilst behind her Pamela threw a thick black tablecloth with a pentagram stitched onto the front over the round table in the middle of her living room. Dean eyes never left her as she bent down to rummage in a cupboard for candles. The waistband of her jeans was slung low across her hips, showing the tattoo on the small of her back. Dean smirked again.

"Who's Jesse?" he asked. Pamela laughed as she stood up.

"Well it wasn't forever!" Miriana vaguely remembered Jesse, an old boyfriend of Pamela's' who had been little more than a long summer fling. Pamela often tended to take impulsive decisions. Miriana was more of a rational person. Listened to her head rather than her heart.

"His loss," Dean said with a grin.

Pamela wandered over to him with a mischievous grin plastered across her face, "Might be your gain."

She walked past Dean to light the candles on the table, and Dean nudged Sam with a pleased expression on his face.

"Dude, I'm so in," he muttered. Miriana rolled her eyes. _Typical. _

"Yeah, she's gonna eat you alive," Sam said. Miriana nodded in agreement.

"I just got outta jail. Bring it," Dean whispered enthusiastically.

Pamela passed Sam and nudged him in the ribs, "You're invited too grumpy," she said to him. Miriana laughed at the stunned expression on Sam's' face. Pamela never changed; once a flirt, always a flirt.

Dean rounded on Sam then. "You are not invited," he growled. Miriana glared at them both as she passed them to sit at the table that was now fully prepared for the séance, the candles glowing brightly in the dim light of Pamela's' living room.

"Don't either of you even think about it," she hissed under her breath. At the mocking look on Deans' face, she added, "seriously."

Within a few second there were all seated around the table, Miriana nervously crossing and uncrossing her legs underneath the table and drumming her fingers on the tabletop. Anything remotely psychic made her nervous, probably because she didn't understand it. Miriana was the sort of person who liked to know everything, it was part of the reason why she read so much, and she didn't like having gaps in her knowledge. Dean always complained she was too much of a geek, worse than Sam, which in his opinion was "really saying something." Despite her job, she was sceptical about anything to do with psychic abilities and 'otherworldly' things, although she had to admit that Pamela had never once been proved wrong, and neither had Seth, although he had always spoken too cryptically for Miriana' liking. She glanced nervously around the shadowy room and shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Pamela caught her eye across the table and gave her a small smile; she did her best to give a convincing smile back.

"Right, take each other's hands'," Pamela announced to the circle. Miriana took Sam's' hand, wondering if the coldness of his hands was just her overactive imagination playing tricks on her. She took Bobby's' hand, and smirked at the look on Deans' face as he took hold of his brothers' hand. "Don't be an idiot," she heard Sam mutter out of the corner of his mouth.

"And I need to touch something out mystery monster touched," she stated, slipping her hand under the table; Dean jerked halfway out of his seat and shot Pamela a shocked glance.

"Whoa. He didn't touch me there!" he exclaimed. Pamela gave another laugh.

"My mistake." Miriana smirked to herself. _No she definitely hasn't changed._ Dean rolled up the sleeve of his t-shirt as he had done back at Bobby's house, revealing the shiny hand shaped burn on his upper arm. It was obvious from the shocked look on Sam's' face and the worried glance he shot Miriana that Dean hadn't shown him the scar before. Pamela reached out and carefully and placed her hand over the burn. She closed her eyes and let out a long sigh.

"I invoke, conjure and command you, appear unto me before this circle. I invoke conjure and command you, appear unto me before this circle," Pamela continued to chant the words over and over, like a mantra. Miriana felt an odd shift in the room, like a draft had suddenly blown in, except all the windows and doors were closed. She shivered, the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck standing on end. The others had felt it too; a quick glance in Bobby's' direction showed her the hairs on his arms were standing on end too, and she felt Sam's' hand tighten momentarily on hers. The television switched itself on and the rushing sound of static filled the room, along with the crackle of the radio as it swung between frequencies. Pamela suddenly stopped chanting. Miriana looked up from the spot she was staring at on the table.

"Castiel? No, sorry Castiel I don't scare that easy," Pamela said in a fierce voice.

"Castiel?" Dean asked, looking confused.

"Its name, it's whispering to me, warning me to turn back," Pamela explained, her eyes squeezed tight shut. Miriana quickly followed suit, as did Dean. Pamela continued to chant, her voice rising in volume as the noise of the malfunctioning technology increased. The table began to shake underneath them. Mirianas' eyes flew open in panic. She finally found her voice,

"I think we should stop," she told Pamela, panicked.

"I almost got it," Pamela said, still chanting, eyes still squeezed tight shut.

"Show me your face! Show me your face!" she shouted.

The noise in the room reached a painful intensity, and the candles on the table flared up into bright flames that lit the room with a sudden, ferocious blaze. Pamela let out a scream of pain, and opened her tightly shut eyes to show a bright, retina burning light spilling out from her eyes. The light was so painful Miriana had to shut her eyes, but it left her with bright purple spots dancing behind her eyelids. Pamela's' screams stopped, and there was a sudden, shocking quietness in the room, as the noise of the television and he radio died. Miriana opened her eyes to see Pamela dropping out of her seat and hitting the floor with a thump.

"Call 911!" Bobby shouted to Sam in a panicked voice. Miriana flew out of her chair and knelt on the floor beside Pamela, who had streaks of blood rolling from underneath her eyelids. She opened her burned eyelids to show empty sockets underneath.

"Oh my God!" Miriana breathed, clapping a hand over her mouth.

"Oh God, I can't see, I can't see!" Pamela sobbed over and over. Miriana could hear Sam speaking rapidly into his mobile, but she couldn't make sense of the words. Her mind was still reeling in shock at the sudden and violent turn the séance had taken. She looked up at Dean who had the same question in his eyes that Miriana wanted to know.

_What the hell had Pamela seen?_

***

Hours later, Miriana was sat in her dingy motel room, which she had bought for three nights. Unlike Sam and Dean. Miriana didn't need to rely on fake credit cards and poker winnings to buy her the necessities of life. She had come from a long and illustrious family of hunters, who had put a trust fund away for the future generations if they chose to lead the life of a hunter. She used the money sparingly, and whenever she could she would live with her aunt Annabelle in Maine, and she had an apartment in Boston that she lived in as much as possible. She still used her skill at poker and pool to top up her money, but she didn't rely on quite as many illegal endeavours as the Winchesters.

She'd put the television on, just to have a noise to fill in the silence and to stop her from thinking too much. In the last couple of days, it seemed that her life and the lives of her friends were spinning out of control, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Although she would never admit it, deep down, she was terrified. It was obvious that the demons were cooking up something big, and she didn't like to think where it might lead. She fumbled in her black leather holdall full of clothes and toiletries and pulled out Seth's' diary, and turned it over and over in her hands. She didn't want to open it, but the logical side of her brain said that she should really do something useful rather than just sitting on her bed, staring at the ground, drowning in her worries. She was about to open the diary when her phone rang, harsh and shrill in the quiet room. The caller display showed Deans' number.

"Dean? Is Pamela Ok? Are you Ok?" she drilled him with questions the second she answered the phone. _Don't drill him,_ she chided herself mentally,_ he hates that._

"Calm down will you?" she had guessed his reaction fairly accurately; "We're fine. Just had a slight little run in with some demons, but-"

"Demons?!" Miriana interrupted with a shriek, "Are you alright? Did they hurt you?"

"Holy crap Miriana, stop screeching! You'll deafen me. I said we're fine. Pamela's stable and out of ICU."

Miriana hesitated for a second, then asked tentatively, "And her...her eyes?"

There was a moment of silence, the Dean answered "Yeah. She's blind." His voice was tense.

Miriana exhaled loudly. "What the bloody hell is going on?"

"I wish I could tell you. Look, will you meet us at the motel Sam and I are staying at. And get a move on, it's important."

"Alright, but why?"

"Just meet us, alright?" Dean snapped, and hung up the phone. Miriana looked at her phone in surprise, and then slid the cover down to disconnect the call. Dean was worried about something, that much was obvious. He did exactly what she did when he got worried, lashed out at the nearest person to cover up his anxiety. She couldn't blame him. She was worried too, so worried her stomach was constantly twisting itself into knots. She stood and slung her holdall over her shoulder. She decided she had better get a move on before Dean bit her head off again. When he got that annoyed with her, it had to be something huge; Dean never got angry with her. Ever. _Yep, something big is definitely going down_


	6. World Falls Away

***

She arrived at the motel Sam and Dean were staying at in under half an hour, due to some minor breaking of the speed limits. She climbed out of the car, and after casting a glance around the parking lot, noticed that the Impala was missing; she guessed Sam had taken the Impala somewhere. She half ran down the corridors towards the Winchesters' motel room; she was halfway to the door when she stopped dead. She could hear a high pitched noise, a noise at such a painful frequency it gave her a headache. She covered her ears in a vain attempt to block out the clamouring racket, doubled over in pain. She felt a hand on her shoulder, and she turned to see Bobby stood behind her, yelling something but she couldn't hear it over the noise. He gestured towards the door at the end of the corridor, and Miriana suddenly remembered Dean. She ran towards the door with Bobby and kicked it open in one swift move, so it slammed forcefully against the wall. Miriana looked down to see Dean lying in a mess of broken mirrors and shattered windows, his hands clapped over his ears, yelling in pain. The television was blaring out static and the radio was yo-yoing between different frequencies, exactly as they had been at Pamela's house during the séance. Within seconds, the deafening clamour was silenced, and Miriana regained control of her senses. She ran over to Dean and tried to pull him to face her, yelling his name, feeling the sharp shards of glass cutting through her jeans and tearing gashes in the skin of her knees, her ears still ringing like someone had just rung church bells in her head.

***

A short time later, Miriana was sat in the back seat of Bobbys' car, worriedly watching Dean wiping blood away from his ears with a cloth. She started bouncing her leg up and down and drumming her fingers on the back of Bobbys' seat, a typical sign of her nervousness.

"How you doin' kid?" Bobby asked.

"Aside from the church bells ringing in my head, just peachy," Dean said sarcastically. He rubbed a hand over his eyes and threw the bloody cloth onto the floor.

"What the hell was that?" Miriana asked, leaning between the two front seats and drumming her fingers ever faster on the back of Bobbys' seat.

"I don't know," Dean sighed, "But that's exactly what passed over me at the gas station right after I clawed my way out of my grave."

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialled a number, then put the phone the phone to his ear. After a few seconds she faintly heard Sam's voice on the other end of the line.

"What are you doing?" asked Dean in a sharp tone. Sam replied, then Dean snapped in an aggravated voice,

"In my car?"

Another few seconds of silence, then,

"Well Bobby and Miriana are back, going to grab a beer. And probably a white wine spritzer for miss posh panties over here. You know how much of a lightweight she is."

Miriana thumped him on the shoulder with her fist.

"Done. Catch you later." He flipped the phone shut.

"Why the hell didn't you tell him?" Bobby demanded.

"Because he'd just try and stop us," Dean replied.

"From what?" Miriana and Bobby asked in unison.

"Summoning this thing. It's time we face it head on."

"Excuse me?" Miriana shrieked. Dean winced.

"You can't be serious?" Bobby said in a disbelieving tone.

"As a heart attack. Its high noon baby," Miriana rolled her eyes, swore softly and thumped back against her seat.

"We don't know what it is! Could be a demon could be anything!" Bobby exclaimed. The full gravity of the situation hit Miriana like a freight train at this point.

"That's why we gotta be ready for anything," he shifted in his seat and pulled out Ruby's jagged edged knife and spun it between his fingers, "Got the big time magic knife. You've got an arsenal in the trunk."

"This is a bad idea," Bobby grumbled.

Miriana leaned forward in her seat again, "Yeah, I'm violent agreement with you there, Bobby!"

"Yeah, well I couldn't agree more, but what other choice do we have?" Miriana knew that there wasn't really any other option to finally discover what exactly was happening.

"We could choose life!" Bobby said.

"If we're taking a vote, I choose life," Miriana said enthusiastically.

"Look, whatever this thing is, it's after me. That much we know. Well I got no place to hide. I can either get caught with my pants down again, or we can make a stand."

"We could use Sam for this," Bobby stated.

"No he's better off where he is," Dean said quietly.

Miriana slumped further down in her seat and give a loud sigh and folded her arms across her chest. "Oh bloody hell, this is ridiculous!" she snapped, and gave Deans' seat a vicious kick.

"I still say this is a bad idea. And I'm always right."

***

_I can't believe I'm doing this._

Miriana was down on her knees, adding the finishing touches to a huge devils trap she was spraying on the floor. They had driven to a nearby derelict barn, and had set about spraying every single trap and symbols from every single religion and culture they knew on the walls and the floor. Dean was busy lying out all the different weapons they had on a table at the far end of the barn, running his fingers over every kind of gun and blade they had, checking they had everything they needed. Miriana stood up and surveyed her work proudly with her hands on her hips.

"Done!" she announced. Dean turned from checking the weapons and looked down at the intricate devils trap and smirked, the usual smile that meant he was about to make an insulting comment.

"Well it took you long enough!"Miriana shot him a filthy glare.

"I can shove this where the sun doesn't shine if you want?" she asked, waving the metal can of black spray. Dean just smirked again in response. Bobby finished spraying a huge, detailed Tibetan protection symbol on the wall, then stood in the middle in the room and surveyed his work as Miriana had done. They had covered almost every inch of the walls and the floors in just under an hour; Miriana couldn't imagine how any demon or any other supernatural thing could work their way through all of the traps.

"That's one hell of an art project you got goin', Bobby," Dean said, leaving the neatly organised weapons on the table and running his eyes along the floor and walls.

"Traps and talismans from every faith on the globe," Bobby explained, "How you doin' over there?"

"We got stakes, salt, shotguns, the knife, silver," running his fingers along object as he said it, "we're ready to catch and kill just about anything I've ever heard of."

Bobby sighed heavily as he leaned against one of the tables, "I still say this is a bad idea."

"Yeah, I heard you the first ten times, Bobby," Dean muttered.

"Well it doesn't seem to have sunk in with you exactly how much of a stupid idea this is. I'll keep telling you until it does," Miriana snapped, pulling a slim silver knife of the table and spinning it between her fingers.

Dean ignored her, "What do you say Bobby. Time to ring the dinner bell?"

Bobby walked over to a silver bowl which was lying on the back of the table. Bobby had prepared it earlier with a mix of herbs, graveyard dirt and hoodoo dust, and now he stood over it, quietly reciting words of Latin over the bowl. He swirled the contents of the bowl around, then replaced it on the table and leaned against it again. Nothing happened.

"Now what?" Miriana asked.

"Now, we wait," Bobby said. Miriana sighed heavily and jumped up so she was sat on the table, and swung her legs back and forth.

"Great."

Time seemed to pass excruciatingly slowly, and Miriana had nothing to do but stare at the floor and walls, which meant her thoughts returned to all of the worries she had been obsessing over in the motel room. That was the exact reason that Miriana liked to be constantly doing something productive; with nothing to do, her thoughts ran away with themselves. She could feel the ache of anticipation of her stomach, and her heart was beating twice as fast as normal, thundering out a jagged rhythm in her chest. She took the small silver knife and began scratching a pentagram into the warped wood of the table she was sat on, as if they didn't have enough already. Bobby was leaning quietly against the table, and Dean was sat on the table opposite Miriana, swinging his legs back and forth and drumming his fingers against the barrel of his shotgun. Everything was silent aside from the whispering of the wind outside and the faint creaking of the wood of the barn.

It was over an hour before Dean finally broke the long silence.

"Are you sure you did the ritual right?" Dean asked Bobby. Bobby shot him a glare and Dean raised his hands in apology. "Sorry. Touchy, touchy huh?" Dean said to Miriana out of the corner of his mouth.

Suddenly, the wind picked up in intensity and began rattling the boards on the roof of the barn so they banged loudly against one another. All three hunters looked up in alarm, and Miriana put the knife down on the table and instead closed her hands around a shotgun. Its weight felt more comforting in her hands than the small knife. Bobby stood up from the table and pumped his shotgun once, casting his eyes around the barn. Dean stood up too, so that the three of them were stood shoulder to shoulder near the back wall.

"Wishful thinking, but maybe it's just the wind," Dean said. The second he said it however, the light behind them blew out in a vivid burst of white hot sparks, then another light went in blinding shower of sparks, then another. Miriana jumped as she felt the heat of the sparks searing her skin through the thin fabric of her shirt. With a loud splintering crash, the doors at the end of the barn swung open, and figure started to walk through the rain of burning sparks. Miriana, Dean and Bobby exchanged a brief glance, then raised their shotguns and aimed towards the oncoming figure. Miriana squeezed the trigger of the shotgun, feeling the recoil of the gun thumping into her shoulder every time she fired off another shotgun round. Like at the motel and the séance, the noise in the room was intense, and Mirianas' eardrums were rattling with each loud bang of the shotgun. Dean and Bobby were both firing the shotguns at the oncoming figure, but he didn't falter or stop once, not through the force of the shotgun shells or the shower of burning sparks from the exploding lights. He reached the end of the barn, and Miriana could finally see him clearly.

He was wearing a long tan trench coat with a black suit and white shirt underneath. He wore a tie loosely around his neck; to Miriana he just looked like any other scruffy worker from the city coming home at the end of a long day. He was about Deans' height, although he had a slighter build. He had dark, tousled chestnut hair and a light layer of stubble on his neck and well sculpted jaw. As he walked past her to where Dean was stood, his eyes passed over Bobby, then lingered on her for a few seconds. They were a piercing sapphire blue, intelligent and deep, and when she met his eyes for those few brief seconds, she felt a shiver run up and down her spine. Dean was watching him with an apprehensive look on his face; he reached behind him and closed his hand around the hilt of Ruby's knife and held it tight at his side. He reached Dean and came to a halt. Miriana glanced at Bobby, who was watching the scene before him with panicked eyes.

"Who are you?" Dean asked in a tense voice; when she looked down at his hands she saw that he was gripping the handle of the blade so tight his knuckles were white

"I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition," he stated; his voice was deeper and gruffer than she'd expected. Dean raised his eyebrows.

"Yeah, thanks for that," Dean said, then plunged the blade of Ruby's' knife straight into his chest, sinking it in right up to the handle. Nothing happened. Just like the shotgun shells, the blade did nothing to harm him, he didn't even flinch. Deans' eyes flew wide in panic, as did Mirianas'; she had never seen anything remotely demonic survive that knife, she knew even Lilith was afraid of it. He grabbed hold of the hilt of the blade and wrenched it out of his chest as easily as if he was removing a knife from butter, then dropped it on the floor. Next to her, Bobby, dropped the shotgun and grabbed an iron bar off the table and swung it towards the back of his head. Before the bar went anywhere close to his head, he stopped the swing with an upraised hand, barely even blinking. He rounded on Bobby, touched two fingers to his forehead, then Bobby's' eyes rolled up and he slumped to the floor, the iron bar falling to the ground with a metallic clatter. Miriana caught sight of Deans' panicked face, then she dropped her shotgun too and swung her arm back, preparing for a right hook. Before she could make contact with his face however, he caught her fist easily in his hand, as he had caught Bobby's' iron bar. His hands were warm, which surprised her; for some reason she had expected them to be icy cold. His dark blue eyes met hers, and again she shivered, feeling weak and suddenly and painfully aware of how hard her heart was pounding in her chest. He touched two fingers lightly to her forehead, as with Bobby; she caught a brief glimpse of Deans' frightened face before the blackness rolled up and covered her.


	7. Personal Jesus

Miriana felt the tendrils of consciousness begin to work their way into her brain, cutting through the fog that clouded her head. She kept her eyes closed and lay completely still for a few seconds, then she remembered what had happened and she shot bolt upright, her forehead colliding with something solid.

"OW!" someone yelled; the noise of the shout and the sudden way in which she sat up made her head throb painfully. She opened her eyes to see Dean rubbing his head with a disgruntled expression on his face.

"How hard is your head, Miriana?" he grumbled, standing up and holding out a hand to pull her to her feet.

"It's to protect my huge and highly intelligent brain," Miriana replied, taking hold of Deans' outstretched hand and getting unsteadily to her feet. The second that she stood up her head gave another painful throb, her vision wavered and she staggered; Dean put an arm around her waist to steady her. She leaned against him for as short a time as possible, then batted him away. She noticed that all the weapons had been removed; no doubt back to Bobby's trunk.

"I'm fine," she said, at the concerned look on Deans' face, "What were you leaning you over me for anyway?"

"Well, Bobby's' awake, but you weren't showing any signs of getting up, so I was going to pick you up and carry you to the Impala. But then you head butted me."

"Sorry," Miriana said with a smile. She rubbed her head, then asked, "So? Our mystery monster?"

Dean didn't reply.

"That bad, huh?" Miriana said, raising her eyebrows. Dean gave a loud sigh.

"You won't believe me," he said quietly.

"Try me."

"He's an angel," Dean stated. Miriana paused for a few seconds whilst her brain processed the information. Then she did the first that came into her head. She laughed.

"An angel?" she snorted. Dean rolled his eyes.

"I said you wouldn't believe me," he muttered.

"An angel?" she said again, "Wait, did you also ride out of hell on a silver unicorn running on a moonbeam, and when you climbed out of your grave did leprechauns throw fairy dust on you?" she laughed again; she found the whole concept of an angel hilarious. As if they could exist; there was nobody up there to help them. Surely if there was, they would have done something to help them before now.

Dean shot her a glare and began striding towards the entrance to the barn. Miriana followed him, still laughing.

"Look I know it's hard to believe, but that's what Castiel said to me. And he didn't harm us, did he?" Dean said.

"No, but he's left me with a bitch of a headache," Miriana sighed, rubbing her aching temples, "What else did this...Castiel say?"

They had reached the car now; Miriana could see Bobby sat in the passenger seat, his head in his hands. He obviously had a bad headache too. Dean stopped for a second and leaned against the drivers' door.

"He said God had work for me," at the stunned look on Mirianas' face, he said, "Yeah, that's exactly how I feel."

Miriana leaned against the frame of the car for support and ran a hand through her hair.

"What kind of work?" she asked.

"He didn't exactly specify that. He went and vanished before I could ask him."

Mirianas' usually quick brain was still processing all the information she had received; she just couldn't get her head around it.

"Come on Dean, angels? We both now that's a load of crap. If angels existed why wouldn't they have helped us before? I mean, that is what they're supposed to do, isn't it?"

Dean raised his hands a defensively, "Look, I'm in the same boat as you on this. But we know one thing, whoever or whatever he is, he's powerful. He just pulled that knife out like it was nothing." Dean opened the door and slid into the seat; Miriana did the same, her head still faintly throbbing. She leaned forward between the seats and patted Bobby's shoulder.

"Hurts like a bitch, doesn't it?"She said sympathetically. He merely grunted in response. Dean started the car with a loud growl, backed away from the dark barn, and spun the car onto the long road.

Silence fell between them, as Bobby was still recovering from his headache, and she could tell from Deans' face he was wrapped in his own thoughts. Miriana stared out at the black road and thought through everything she had been told and everything that happened, trying to make sense of it. She couldn't think of any demon that could pass through all those traps and have immunity to rock salt rounds and Ruby's enchanted knife. No demon, not even Lilith could survive that knife straight to the heart. And she couldn't imagine any demon leaving them all unharmed through choice, aside from a pounding headache in Bobby and Mirianas' case. She remembered those piercing dark blue eyes as they met hers, and felt a shiver run up her spine again. But it wasn't a shiver of fear, far from it; it was a shiver of something else entirely. Those hadn't been the eyes of a demon, of something evil. They weren't human, they were far too deep and alien to be human, but they weren't demonic. She slid down in her seat and tightened her leather jacket around her shoulders, her eyes fluttering slowly closed, her thoughts still full of angels and demons.

***

Miriana and Dean spent the night at Bobby's house, with Miriana sleeping on the couch and Dean on the floor; they had spent over fifteen solid minutes arguing about who would sleep where. Miriana had offered, but Dean merely muttered something about 'chicks' and 'being a gentleman.' Sam wasn't at Bobby's so Dean had rung him and told him to hurry up and get to Bobby's, but they had both fallen asleep before he arrived, and he had obviously decided not to wake them. Miriana hadn't slept well, her dreams dark and disturbing, and she had a strong suspicion that Dean hadn't slept well either; he had been very quiet in the night.

Miriana came down from her shower in the morning to the sound of Dean and Sam arguing in Bobby's kitchen.

"...I'm not gonna believe this thing is a friggin' angel of the lord because it says so!" she heard Dean shout.

"You two chuckleheads wanna keep arguing religion? Or do you wanna come and look at this?" Bobby asked in an indignant voice. Sam shook his head at Dean, then followed Dean and Miriana to stand by Bobby's desk at the back of the library. She lightly touched Sam's arm and gave him a tentative smile; his answering smile was tense.

Bobby had several massive tomes open in front of him; Miriana could see many of the pages were written in Latin.

"I've got stacks of lore, biblical, pre biblical, some of its in damn cuneiform. They all say an angel can snatch a soul from the pit," Bobby explained, leaning back in his seat. Miriana looked down at the open page to see a picture of an angel with its hand gripped around a man with upraised arms standing in a ring of flames that was clearly meant to symbolize hell.

"What else?" Dean asked in a strained voice.

"What else what?"

"What else could do it?" Dean questioned, rubbing the burn on his arm through the fabric of his t-shirt.

"Airlift your ass out of the hotbox? So far as I can tell, nothing."

"You're sure?" Miriana asked, twisting the towel she was carrying between her fingers.

"Definitely." Sam gave a triumphant smile, but his face fell at the expressions on Dean and Mirianas' faces.

"Guys, this is good news!" Sam exclaimed.

"How?" growled Dean.

"Because for once, this isn't just another round of demon crap!" Sam said. From the look on Deans' face, he didn't agree, and Miriana wasn't sure she did either. "Maybe you were saved by one of the good guys, you know!"

"Okay. Say it's true. Say there are angels. What, there's a God?" Dean asked in a sceptical voice.

Bobby shrugged his shoulders. "At this point, biggest moneys' on yeah."

Miriana gave a derisive snort, and Dean shook his head and turned away. "I don't know guys."

Sam sighed loudly and raised his eyes to the ceiling. "Look, I know you two aren't exactly all choirboy about this, but this is becoming less and less about faith, and more and more about proof!"

"Proof!" Dean barked. Miriana shot a glance at Bobby; he was watching them with an unreadable expression on his face.

"Yes!" Sam shot back.

"Proof that there is a God out there that actually gives a crap about me personally, I'm sorry, but I don't buy it!"

Sam raised his eyes to the ceiling again, "Why not?"

Miriana saw the slight spark of vulnerability appear in Deans' green eyes. "Because why me?" she understood how he felt; in his position she would feel exactly the same. "If there is a God out there why would he give a crap about me?" she could hear the underlying note of pain in his voice, so subtle it was barely noticeable; she could only detect it because she had known him so long and knew him so well.

"Dean-" Sam began.

"I mean I've saved some people. I figure that makes up for the stealing and the dishing chicks. But why do I deserve to get saved? I'm just a regular guy."

"Well apparently you're a regular guy who's important to the man upstairs," Sam said. The look on Deans' face changed almost to a look of fear.

"Well that creeps me out! I don't like being singled out at birthday parties, much less by...God."

"Well tough, because I think he wants you to strap on your party hat," Sam said, folding his arms across his chest, effectively ending the conversation. Miriana leaned back against the wall and sighed. Dean turned to Bobby, who like Miriana, had been watching the whole argument without saying anything.

"Alright, what do we know about angels?" Dean asked, the strain in his voice still present. Bobby lifted a tall, tottering stack of books and dumped onto the table with a loud bang. He gestured at the pile.

"Start reading."

Dean frowned; reading was hardly his favourite pastime. He turned to Sam and snapped,

"You're gonna get me some pie!" he snatched a book of the top of pile and stormed out of the room. Sam rolled his eyes and went to follow him. Before he left, Miriana touched his arm.

"Could you do me a favour? It's just, my car's still in Pontiac at that motel, and I was going to go and see Pam at the hospital, could you-?"

Sam raised his hands before she could finish, "Yeah, yeah no problem, I'll drop you off. Anything to get out of here," he added under his breath. She looked at Bobby, who shrugged his shoulders in an exasperated sort of way. She followed Sam out to the Impala, wishing more than anything that she could go to Dean and comfort him. But he wasn't in the mood for sharing, she could tell that, and trying to talk to him would only make him angrier. She silently followed Sam to the Impala, and settled down for a long, quiet, awkward journey.

***

Sam dropped Miriana off at the motel she had being staying at, hugging her before she left. When he released her, he said,

"See you again soon, huh?"

Miriana nodded, "I'll be back in a day or so. I'm going to see Pam, and then I'll meet up with you wherever you are. God knows we need to stick to together at the moment."

He took her by surprise by hugging her again, then he kissed the top of her head and released her again.

"Don't worry about Dean, Sam. He'll come round in a few days. You can't honestly say you blame him for being so pissy. I would be in his position."

Sam swallowed hard and looked down, "Yeah. I just wish he had a more open mind, you know? And anyway, you're always pissy," he said with a small smile.

He climbed back into the Impala and drove off, Miriana waving to him as he drove around the corner, her eyebrows knitted together, thinking hard. She cleared out her room and checked out at the reception, and climbed into her thankfully untouched car, still sitting where she had parked it the previous afternoon; it seemed an awfully long time ago to Miriana. She was still tired and she was running on empty, but she didn't think she could face any food, especially as her stomach was twisting into knots again. She was getting pretty sick and tired of this constant ache of worry in her stomach. She flipped the mirror down and gave herself a critical once over.

She had never thought of herself of being pretty, and in her life she never had chance to date to find out if anyone thought otherwise. She had deep chocolate brown eyes, shot through with streaks of murky green, surrounded by a fringe of dark eyelashes and black eyeliner. Because of her chalk white skin, she had always had faint purple shadows under her eyes, but her recent lack of sleep meant that they had darkened to a deep, grey-purple. She tried a smile in the mirror; everyone commented on her smile and perfect teeth, thanks to several years of visiting the orthodontist back in London, but she never smiled enough to show it off. The tiny black crystal stud in her nose glinted as she turned her head from side to side. She fluffed her short, jaggedly cut black hair a few times then flipped up the mirror with a sigh, and pushed her keys into the ignition and pulled out of the parking lot of the motel.

Pamela was still at Our Lady Saint Marie's hospital on the outskirts of the town Miriana was in, so she drove out of the town and followed the freeway until she saw the hospital in the distance, and pulled in to the parking lot. It had begun to rain lightly, so Miriana flipped up the hood of her jacket and dashed across to the hospital reception, dodging ambulances and harassed looking paramedics. She walked over to the reception desk, behind which was sat a portly, kind looking woman with short grey hair, who gave Miriana a wide smile as she arrived at the desk.

"I'm looking for Pamela Barnes, please? She came in two nights ago."

The woman typed the name into the computer in front of her, waited a second then said,

"She's on the third floor, ward fourteen; if you follow the signs for the eye department and take a left before the doors you'll find her." The woman gave her another beaming smile.

"Thank you," Miriana said, trying her best to reciprocate the woman's smile, but she suspected it looked like a pretty weak attempt.

She reached the lift at the same time an attractive young man with dark hair wearing a doctors coat did; he smiled at her and gestured for her to go first. She stepped in, and he followed behind her.

"Which floor?" he asked, giving her another smile._ What is it with people smiling at me today? Do I look that miserable? _Then she stopped herself._ Don't be so bitter. They're just being friendly. You need to socialize more. _

"Uh...third floor, please."

"Handy. That's exactly where I'm going." He smiled again. She smiled back; this time she felt it looked a little more genuine. There was silence for a few seconds, then he said,

"I take it you're visiting someone today? Family member?" he asked in a bright tone.

"Uh..no. A friend of mine, she came in the other day." Silence fell between them again. _Think of something witty to say_. But nothing came.

"Crappy weather, huh?"

"Yeah. It seems to rain wherever I go these days. Reminds me of being back in England. Being wet twenty-four seven." She gave a tentative smile. He laughed. She didn't think what she'd said had been that funny, then she had a startling thought. _Is this flirting?_

The doors opened onto the third floor, and again he gestured for her to go first, and then followed behind her.

"Do you know where you're going?" he asked kindly, walking alongside her.

"Ward fourteen," she replied.

"Just at the end of the hall here," he said, gesturing to a door at the end of the long, tiled hall. She reached the door that led onto Pamela's' ward, then paused and turned to look at the doctor. He gave her another smile, the skin around his bright blue eyes crinkling up. _He's got nice eyes. Kind eyes._

"Well...uh, thanks for...you know...talking," she stuttered, cursing her social ineptitude.

"No worries. Maybe I'll see you again sometime."

"Yeah. Maybe."

He gave her another smile and said "Take care, yeah?" He sounded like he really meant it.

"I will." He smiled one last time then turned and walked through the double doors at the far end of the corridor. Miriana watched him go, feeling marginally cheered up by his friendliness. She turned around and pushed open the door to the ward.

She saw Pamela sitting upright in her bed, iPod headphones in her ears, nodding her head along to the music. She sat in the chair beside her bed, and was about to reach out and touch her hand when Pamela spoke.

"No need honey, I know you're there," she said, pulling her headphones out of her ears and turning to smile at Miriana, a white bandage over her eyes.

"How did you-" Miriana began, but Pamela cut her off with a laugh and a wave of her hand.

"I might have lost my eyes sweetie, but I've still got more senses than most. I can see your aura from a mile off. You're so like Dean. All worry and angst. You always did worry too much."

Pamela reached out and took her hand, "So, what are you here for?"

"I was just coming to see you, you know. See if you're Ok. I thought you might like some company for a bit. And to say sorry."

"For what?" Pamela asked.

"Well, you know for your eyes. It was our fault you lost them." Miriana swallowed hard. Pamela gave another laugh.

"Ah, honey, it was my pig-headed determination that did it. I should have just listened to the friggin' thing, then I wouldn't be here. I don't blame you or the Winchesters or Bobby, hun. Really. Stop worrying," she patted Mirianas' hand.

"So you're Ok then?" Miriana asked again.

"Yes, stop asking! But I could ask you the same question. You don't seem fine at all. I can hear it in your voice."

Miriana sighed and leaned back in her chair, rubbing her forehead. "We found out who pulled Dean out of the pit."

Pamela sat up a little straighter, "And?"

"Well...it was an angel," Miriana said. Pamela was silent for a few seconds, then she smiled.

"Isn't that good news?" Pamela asked confusion in her voice. Miriana shrugged her shoulders.

"I don't know. I don't believe in all that religious crap, and this has totally messed with my head. I don't know what to think any more. Neither does Dean, and he's completely freaked out, he's just trying not to show it," she said quietly.

"That sounds like Dean," Pamela said with a smirk. Miriana nodded in agreement.

"So, you believe in angels, and...all that stuff?" Miriana questioned.

"Yeah I guess I do. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm pissed about what this...Castiel did to me, but it's nice to believe there's good out there that's going to help us," she paused for a second, "I've never heard of a demon that shines so brightly they can burn out someone's eyes, but I'll bet angel light is the only thing that can do it."

"Don't you wanna be getting off?" Pamela asked, as if she had guessed Miriana's thoughts, "You're always busy, always doing something. To keep your mind off things, right?"

"You're good, Pam," Miriana said with a laugh, standing up, "But you're probably right, I should go. I said I'd meet up with Sam and Dean again."

Pamela patted her hand one last time."You take care, sweetie. It's getting dangerous out there."

"I will," Miriana promised, "You too."


	8. The Man Comes Around

It was still raining heavily outside, the sky grey and dark. She threw up the hood of her jacket and left the warmth and comfort of the hospital reception. She had cast a few furtive glances around the hospital corridors for the doctor she had met earlier but she didn't catch even a glimpse of him. She bowed her head against the ferocious rain and began walking quickly across the parking lot, barely looking where she was going. She was so wrapped in her own thoughts she didn't notice she was walking right into a figure until she stepped on his toes and nearly head butted him in the chest.

"God, I'm sorry, I-" she looked up into a pair of brilliant blue eyes and stopped dead when she realized who it was.

Castiel.

"Miriana," he said in his deep, quiet voice, "We need to talk." She just stood there, oblivious to the fact that she was getting completely soaked, the cold rain seeping through her jacket and the denim of her jeans. She couldn't make a coherent thought whilst looking at those deep eyes, so she quickly averted her gaze to the tarmac under her feet.

"Err...right." The sight of him had shocked her like a punch to the face, and she suddenly noticed how close together they were stood, close enough that she could faintly feel the warmth of his body, and she flushed bright red and hastily took a large step backwards. He was taller than her by a few inches, so she had to raise her face into the rain to look at him properly; she blinked rapidly, trying to clear the cold water out of her eyes.

"Err... can we go somewhere dryer? 'Cos I'm getting, a bit...uh...you know, wet." She waved her arms at her wet jeans and t-shirt that were now so sodden they were sticking to her skin.

He nodded, "Of course," he said quietly. He hadn't taken his deep eyes off her since she'd walked into him, and she was beginning to feel highly self conscious. _Does he ever stop staring?_ She thought to herself. He started walking towards a sheltered area alongside the wall of the hospital; she followed him, barely managing to match his long-legged stride, her Doc Martens thumping loudly against the tarmac. He stopped under the shelter and turned to face her, dark eyes still watching her with that same intensity. Tiny droplets of water glittered in his ruffled, dark hair and ran down his cheekbones; she had the sudden, overwhelming urge to brush them off his face, so she gripped her hands tightly at her sides and pushed the thought away. Before she could open her mouth to ask him what exactly he wanted to talk about, he said,

"I owe you an apology, Miriana," his voice was completely expressionless, no hint of emotion, his eyes cold and distant, "I needed to talk with Dean alone, but you must have questions for me. My superiors and I thought it best that I contact you."

She did have questions, hundreds of them, but looking at his eyes had knocked virtually every thought out of her head. Her brain felt sluggish and confused; and he was still watching her intently with those ancient eyes.

"Err...well, yeah I suppose I do," she thought very hard for a few seconds and eventually managed to phrase a coherent question. "Dean said you had work for him. What exactly is that work?"

He let out a small sigh and looked away. She almost sighed in relief, her brain felt much clearer, but his very presence made her feel slightly faint. _Please stop swooning,_ the more rational part of her brain told her,_ it's ridiculous._

"That is one question I cannot answer. Not even Dean himself has been told yet, and neither of you are ready to know it."

Miriana forgot her shock at seeing him and felt a hot rush of anger flare up inside her chest.

"Oh I see, so it's all right for you to come swooping in, telling Dean all this cryptic crap, and leaving me with a bitch of headache, might I add, oh and also, why the hell should I believe that you're an...angel from God, or whatever it is you claim to be? Because, where have you been for the past three years, huh? Where were you and your God when Azazel killed John, and when Sam died, and when Dean got dragged off to hell? Or when my parents were killed by demons, or when I lost Cr-" she trailed off, breathing hard, her anger faded to confusion and a tinge of fear. She had been about to say Cristian, but the thought of him was like a physical pain, and his name always left a odd taste in her mouth.

Castiel hadn't said a word throughout her whole tirade, had barely even reacted to her sudden burst of blistering fury. She thought she saw something unrecognisable flash across his eyes, but then they returned to their usual cool neutrality, and he lowered his gaze away from hers.

"You are like Dean. You have no faith," he stated in a calm voice, no hint that he was in the slightest bit bothered by her venting off her anger on him.

"Well forgive me for that!" she snapped, angry again, "It's not easy in this world."

"The Lord works in mysterious ways," he said, his voice still frustratingly calm.

"Yeah, very bloody mysterious," she muttered under her breath, folding her arms across her chest and frowning at the pavement. He was watching her intently again, his head slightly tilted to one side. She shifted uncomfortably. The sudden memory of Cristian had left her chest feeling oddly heavy and painful.

"How is your friend?" he asked suddenly. She looked up, surprised.

"Who...Pam?" he gave a brief nod.

"She's fine. Pissed off at you, though. I mean, you did burn her eyes out of her head. Where do you get off doing that, anyway? I thought you were supposed to help people?" considering five minutes ago she hadn't been able to think of a single question, they all came pouring out in a flood now.

Again, something flashed briefly across his eyes. Regret? Guilt? He dropped his gaze to the pavement.

"I warned her not to look upon my true form. It is overwhelming...for those humans without the ability to perceive it," he explained in a completely expressionless voice. He showed absolutely no sign of any emotion; he was as cold as the rain that was falling outside their shelter. And yet, Miriana felt that there was something more about him, that his lack of emotion was just a facade, hiding what was underneath.

"What about the motel? That noise I heard. Was that...you?"

He nodded briefly, "My real voice."

Miriana sighed, "Well a warning for the future, don't have any conversations with me with your true voice. Not unless you want me passed out on the floor, with my head ringing like someone just rung a church bell in my head."

He didn't say anything to this, just returned his intense gaze to her again; she met his eyes, and found she couldn't pull away. She may have only met him twice, but she was already completely captivated by him. _Oh god, Miriana, you're such a sop, get a grip._

"Was there something else?" she asked, more to break the tension filled silence between them than anything else.

"Well...yes," he dropped his gaze to the ground again, "Be careful. Dark times are ahead of us all."

Something in his voice had changed; the hard edge was gone, replaced by something more raw and tender. He raised his intense eyes to hers and locked gazes with her again. She wanted to say something, but she couldn't find her voice, lost somewhere in her throat. Those eyes interfered with her thought processes, muddling her brain and scrambling all the words in her head.

"Ok," she said weakly. He inclined his head slightly, eyes still on hers. She heard a faint rushing sound, like feathers brushing against each other, she blinked, and he was gone, leaving her standing bewildered and shivering in the cold, wet air.

***

Castiels' sudden and unexpected appearance had left Miriana in a slight state of shock, so much so she couldn't even focus enough to drive her car out of the hospital car park. After he had vanished, she'd somehow managed to unfreeze her legs and stumble across the tarmac to where her car was parked. She'd practically collapsed into the drivers' seat, like her legs had suddenly given out. She leaned her head heavily against the seat, breathing deeply, her chest heaving, shivering in her damp clothes. She pulled her heavy leather jacket off, threw it on the passenger seat and turned up the heaters in her car in an attempt to dry off her jeans and t-shirt. She held her cold hands over the heaters and flexed her stiff fingers, her mind still racing.

He had just appeared out of nowhere and spoken to her as if he had known her all her life, rather than just ten minutes. She hadn't seen any proof that he was angel; no fluffy wings or a halo, but there was something about him that made her trust him implicitly, despite the fact she knew nothing about him. She couldn't get his beautiful blue eyes out of her head, and the mere thought of them made her heart flutter in her chest. _Oh my god! Am I infatuated with an angel? That has to be a sort of sin, right?_

She shook her head, trying to clear his face out of her mind, jammed an old AC/DC album into the CD player, turned up the volume until the bass rumbled the frame of the car, and drove out of the hospital and onto the freeway.

She had been running on pure adrenalin and coffee for the past two days, and she decided she needed a good rest before she met up with Sam and Dean again. She pulled into the nearest motel she saw, and booked a room for the night, using her alias Miss Cristina Tyler; like the Winchesters, she never used her real name, as it only made it easier for the things that wanted to kill her to find her. Plus, her real name was so unusual it always got raised eyebrows, like people suspected it was a made up name.

The second she got to her room, she stripped off her wet clothes and climbed into the shower, which she had turned up until it was almost blisteringly hot. After a few minutes under the water, she suddenly felt weak and shivery, and she found she had to sit down at the base of the shower, pulling her knees up to her chest and resting her head against them, feeling the boiling water hammer against her back. She stayed down on the base of the shower until she had stopped trembling enough to stand up and clamber out. She wrapped a towel around her body and sat on the bed rubbing her aching temples. It seemed the lack of food and sleep and the stress she had gone through over the past few days was finally catching up with her; her body and mind felt absolutely exhausted. She briefly dried her hair with the hairdryer on the dresser, then changed into a pair of dark sweatpants and a baggy old iron maiden t-shirt. She took a few painkillers to dull the stabbing throb of the migraine she could feel building in her head and closed the thick curtains across the windows to block out the early afternoon sun that had chased away the heavy rainclouds. She crawled into bed and threw the covers over her head, curling up into a tight ball and squeezing her eyes shut.

She couldn't sleep though, despite her exhaustion; her restless mind was still ticking over everything that had happened in the past few days; Seth, Pamela, Castiel. Castiel in particular. He just wouldn't leave her head, no matter how hard she tried. Never before had anyone had such a powerful effect on her after such a short amount of time. Deep down, it unsettled her; Miriana had always been a very independent, solitary person, she liked to think she was stronger because of it, that it helped her in her life of demons and the unnatural. And here she was, obsessing over an angel; whose very existence she'd denied all of her life. He'd messed up all of her beliefs, as now she was forced to accept that angels existed. After all, one had stood in front of her and spoke to her. Dean would be pissed at her; she was the one person he could rely on to always be set against anything remotely religious.

The painkillers began to take effect and she could feel herself teetering on the edge of unconsciousness. She fell into a restless sleep, her head still full of thoughts of Castiel.


	9. Complicated

_Hey, hope you still like it and its not dragging too much, I have a tendency to write ridiculous amounts; i've handed my first draft of english coursework and I've gone thirty percent over the word limit already :/ Reveiws are much appreciated. Thanks! :)_

After he had left Miriana outside the hospital, Castiel went to the local park, and sat on a bench in the shelter of a large oak tree, watching the sky darken slowly from golden yellow to a dusky purple. There were still a few children on the swings, their parents watching from other benches scattered around the edge of the park. He watched the people drifting past him; no one even gave him a second glance, they were so wrapped in their own lives.

He had first walked amongst humans two thousand years ago, when he had fought alongside his brothers and sisters against Lucifer. It had been the first time he had risen from Hell since he had fallen from Heaven, and the angels had cast him back into damnation, along with all of his minions, and locked him in the darkest and most desolate corner of Hell. He still didn't really understand why he had been stationed on earth after so many years in heaven, but he knew that the demons were planning something huge,. The hierarchy of Heaven, the archangels, were worried. And that worried him deeply.

He was fascinated by humans; they were the most complex of his Fathers creation, and they were difficult for him to understand, with all their shifting emotions and complicated relationships with each other. Castiel could tell that Dean Winchester would be a difficult charge; his lack of faith and stubborn pigheadedness would be a problem when it came to giving him orders in the future. He could sense that he would have a problem with figures of authority.

He vividly remembered pulling him from the dark corner of Hell he was trapped in; he could still hear the screams, feel the heat of the flames and the smell the choking sulphur in his nose. He could only pray that he would never have to return there. It had been impressed upon him more times than he could remember how important Dean Winchester was to Heaven, but of course he hadn't been told why; he was only a foot soldier after all. Not nearly important enough.

A laughing couple walked past him then, holding hands. He watched them with his bright blue eyes, entranced by the way they looked at each other. He couldn't understand them, as hard as he tried; Dean was no exception to that rule. He had only met him once, but he saw in that brief time all of his angst, confusion and pain bubbling inside of him. He could see the love he had for his brother, for Bobby, and Miriana. A laughing toddler trotted past him then, followed swiftly by a woman he presumed was his mother, she swept him up into her arms, and flashed a quick smile at Castiel as she walked past, laughing along with her son. He found the people around him fascinating, but he had to admit that he found Miriana the most captivating of all of his Fathers' creations.

He had watched her for several months before he had returned to earth, whenever he could spare the time. Watched her face evil every day, watched her receive hundreds of cuts, bruises and scrapes, watched her lose her friends and family. He had seen the sharp starburst of pain in her eyes when she had almost uttered Cristians' name, and spoken of those she had lost. He saw how strongly she loved those around her, how much she cared for Sam and Dean, found himself wishing he could feel the way she did. He felt oddly attached to her, always wanted to protect her; he had felt a strange twist in his stomach when he had knocked her unconscious and seen the panic in her wide, dark eyes. His orders were to talk to Dean and Dean alone, not to discuss Heavens plan with anyone else. He had lied to Miriana when he said it was his superiors who told him to speak to her; it had been his choice to see her. He had just wanted to talk to her, to try and comfort her in some way, and found he couldn't take his eyes off her. He had thought about her ever since their conversation outside the hospital. She had stirred up strange feelings in him, emotions he couldn't comprehend, emotions he didn't even have a name for. He was unaccustomed to feelings of any kind; the mark of a good angel was to be obedient, unwavering in his faith and devoid of any emotion. Emotions lead to doubt. Doubt was considered one of the greatest sins in an angel. He kept any sparks of emotion he felt buried deep, with no chance they would bubble to the surface, but with Miriana he found it very difficult to keep them hidden. Her emotions ran so close to the surface, shone clearly out of her eyes; that was why he had found it almost impossible to pull his eyes away from hers, fascinated by what he saw in them. He had hated the way he felt when she'd lashed out at him, felt the heat of her anger almost burn him physically, like an open flame against his skin. He'd almost felt the pain in her eyes when she'd spoken about the loved ones she'd lost, and he'd seen all the confusion and angst in her. He didn't want to see that look in her eyes again.

He was still wrapped in thoughts of Miriana when he heard a rustle of wings; he looked up to see Zachariah, his superior, in front of him. He had chosen a portly, balding man in a navy blue suit as his vessel. He stood immediately in respect, and Zachariah acknowledged this with a slight inclination of his head. Deep down, Zachariah scared Castiel, as he knew only too well how severely he punished disobedience.

"Castiel," he said, by way of a greeting.

"Zachariah, sir," he said in response. Zachariah heaved a huge sigh, and Castiel had a strong sense that he was about to reprimanded fiercely.

"Why did you contact the girl, Castiel? You know full well what your orders are. You are not to contact anyone else about our plans. She is not important. What she does or does not know is no concern of ours," Zachariah snapped in a harsh voice.

"Sir, I only thought-" Castiel began, but Zachariah cut him off with a wave of his hand.

"No, you disobeyed an order. You know the consequences for disobedience." Castiel knew full well. He had heard the stories of what happened to those that disobeyed their superiors. The fear of punishment had kept him totally obedient for well over two thousand years.

"Sir, I thought it would be a good idea to contact her. She could be useful, being such a close friend of Dean Winchester. Keeping her informed might be advantageous for us," he lied smoothly. He hated talking about her like an object, a pawn in their game. She was more than that, to him at least, even if Zachariah and the others thought she was insignificant. He didn't dare tell him the truth about why he had chosen to talk to her; it would raise awkward questions.

Zachariah observed him for a few seconds, and the spark of anger in his eyes cooled, "I see your point, perhaps you did make a good choice. She could be very useful, I agree. I suppose I can allow it."

Castiel internally let out a relieved sigh, hoping it wouldn't show in his eyes, "Thank you, sir."

"You are needed in Illinois; a coven of particularly belligerent demons are giving us trouble. We need you and others from your garrison to deal with them," he ordered in a cool tone.

"Yes, sir," Castiel mumbled. Zachariah vanished in the blink of an eye, leaving Castiel alone in the rapidly darkening twilight. His thoughts wandered to Miriana again, before he stretched his dark wings and prepared to take flight into the steadily deepening sky.


	10. Gives You Hell

Miriana awoke with a start, shivering despite the fact she was curled up beneath the thick duvet on the bed. She sat up slowly, stretching her cramped muscles and rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. She glanced at the alarm clock on the bedside table; it read eleven-thirty PM. She'd been asleep for at least ten hours, and felt far more refreshed, although she wished she could have slept through to the morning. She had the feeling that she had been woken up by something, rather than waking up on her own, and she cast a glance around the dark room. With the curtains closed across the window, there was virtually no light in the room, and her eyes were still adjusting to the near pitch-blackness. It seemed to be getting a few degrees cooler every second, so much so her breath began to mist in front of her in a silvery cloud. She shivered, goosebumps rising on her skin and the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. She leaned across the bed and flipped on the lamp on her bedside table, preparing herself for a sudden shock.

But the room was empty. No one else but her. She leaned back against the pillows and tried to slow her breathing, trying to ignore the worried feeling that descended over her. Her stomach gave a loud growl, and she remembered with a start that she hadn't eaten a decent meal in over two days. She was considering changing out of her ratty sweatpants and t-shirt and leaving the motel to grab a burger from the diner down the road, when the lamp on the bedside table began to flicker.

Miriana had been raised as a hunter since she was a small child, and she knew only too well that a cold room and flickering lights was not a good sign. She sat up straight, eyes roving around the room, studying the flickering shadows in the corner of the room for any sign of movement. Suddenly, the television flicked on, blaring out some late night sitcom into the room. For a brief, hopeful second, Miriana thought Castiel was back, but then she remembered he wouldn't try and contact her that way again, not after it became apparent she couldn't see his true form. The leather bag Miriana kept her weapons in was sitting on the low chair at the end of her bed; still keeping her eyes on the erratically dancing shadows, she climbed out of the bed and rummaged frantically through the bag until her hands closed on her shotgun. She fumbled in the side pockets on the bag and pulled out several chunky rock salt shells, which she then loaded into the shotgun, pumping it with a loud click. Her heart was thundering away in her chest, and she could feel the adrenalin rushing through her veins. She raised the shotgun to her chest and aimed it at the shadows, preparing for any sudden attack. She was turning off the loud television as quickly as she could, when she heard a startlingly familiar voice behind her.

"Miriana," it said. She spun around, shotgun raised to shoulder, to confirm with her eyes what her ears told her. Although she had expected it, what she saw still sent a jolt through her. Seth was stood near the door to the room, still dressed in his battered black Mac and filthy jeans, watching her with an amused smile. Her finger hovered over the trigger of the shotgun, but she just couldn't bring herself to pull it. His smile grew a little wider.

"Now come on, Miriana. You know you really should shoot me, before I do anything nasty," his voice was mocking.

"But...but...you're dead," she whispered. Seth gave a short, bitter laugh.

"Well, nothing gets past you does it? After all Miriana, you did see it happen, as hard as it is to believe it got struck by lightning like that. Hurt like a bitch, that did. What a way to go, huh?"

She could no longer hold the shotgun straight her hands were trembling so badly.

"You're...you're a ghost?" she asked in a quavering voice. Seth rolled his eyes in response.

"Well, obviously. You're really not quick of the draw tonight, are you? I thought you were cleverer than this."

Despite the coil of fear in her gut, she was getting sick of the mocking tone of his voice. It seemed he was the same in death as he was in life; it took him forever to get to the point. She found her sudden flare of anger and impatience allowed her to hold the shotgun straight.

"Why are you here, Seth? I don't think you've dropped in for a friendly chat. Are you going to tell me what you wanted to say in Ilchester?" she sincerely hoped that was the answer to his sudden appearance.

The smile faded," Oh, you'd love that, wouldn't you? You'd love to think I just had to battle my way from the afterlife to offer guidance to you. Because you're so important. You're deluded, Miriana. You always have been," he said in a cold voice.

He took a few steps towards her. Mirianas' finger pressed down a little harder on the trigger.

"You think you can save the world? Think you're such a big heroine? You're just pathetic. You're still a naive little teenager living in a fantasy. It's all because of you that I'm dead. I came to warn you, and you couldn't even protect me, you just kept pushing me for answers, not even caring about the consequences," his voice was getting angrier and angrier with every word. He came even closer, so there was only a foot of space between them.

"Back off!" she hissed.

"You're not really going to shoot me. You're too weak. You can't-"

Miriana squeezed the trigger of the shotgun, and the rock salt shell blasted out of the end of the gun and slammed into Seth's chest. He flickered out of existence, and the empty shotgun shell fell to the floor with a clatter. She had gotten sick of listening to his mocking voice, ridiculing her, so she'd shot him. But she knew he wouldn't be gone for long.

She rifled through her leather holdall again, finally closing her fingers around the tub of salt; she pulled the top off, fingers trembling with adrenalin, and poured a thick line of salt in a large circle around herself. Before she could complete it however, a fist slammed into the side of her face and she dropped the tub of salt so that it spilt its contents all over the floor. She felt strong hands grab the front of her t-shirt, and she was thrown clear across the room. She slammed into the wall bone-breakingly hard, all the air in her body forced out of her so she was left gasping and choking. She slid to the bottom of the wall, coughing ferociously, looking up to see Seth stalking towards her with a furious expression on her face. He grabbed her shoulders and slammed her hard into the wall, so hard bright purple spots danced before her eyes and a sharp pain ripped up her spine.

"Seth, please-" she began, shouting in a panicked voice.

"You didn't help me Miriana, and now, no one's coming to help you." He grabbed the front of her shirt again, and when she looked at his hand, she noticed an odd mark on his hand, like a brand on his skin. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she recognized that mark, but her head was rattled so badly she could barely remember her own name. Seth pulled her away from the wall and threw her across the floor; she winced as she felt bruises spring up along her ribs. He gave her a vicious kick to her stomach, so that she was winded again, her lungs seemingly incapable of getting air into her body. She spat out a mouthful of coppery blood into the carpet, choking around the metallic taste in her mouth and throat. He knelt down beside her, and she caught sight of the terrible look in his eyes, the awful rage, then he plunged a hand_ into _her chest, passing through her flesh and bone and closing around her heart. Her heart tried to pump around the tightly squeezing hand, but it couldn't, as hard as it tried. The pain in her chest suddenly increased tenfold, but she couldn't scream, couldn't force any kind of sound out of her throat. A line of black began to descend over her vision, the room swum before her eyes, and she felt hot tears run down her cheeks. _I'm dying_, she thought, panicked, _I'm going to die and there's nothing I can do._

Suddenly, there was a burst of bright, shockingly blue light that stung Miriana's eyes, Seth let out a long scream, before the light flared so bright she had to shut her eyes. She felt the agonizing pressure in her chest fade and she dragged in huge lungfuls of burning air, her eyes streaming salty tears down her face. Seth was gone as suddenly as he appeared, leaving Miriana alone and gasping on the floor, aching all over. She didn't understand what had just happened, but for the time being, she didn't care. She was just happy to be alive, even if painfully so. She lay there for a few minutes longer, trying to slow her racing heart and her breathing. She stayed down on the floor until he stomach rumbled, and she remembered just how hungry she was. She staggered to her feet, holding a hand over her bruised ribs, spitting out bloody saliva and rolling her aching shoulders. She looked at the mess of salt on the floor and at the blood on her t-shirt, and then decided, _first things first. Food. _


	11. The Times They areaChangin'

She checked her phone as she climbed out of the shower and winced; she had twelve missed calls and three increasingly panicky messages from Dean, and one from Bobby. She listened to them as she sat in her Mercedes outside the motel, aching all over, and swore quietly when Dean explained that all the hunters in the area were dying, and that Bobby was worried that something was up. She swore even louder when Deans' third message cut off halfway through. She was willing to put money on it that whatever had happened to her had happened to Sam and Dean too. She felt a rush of fear for the Winchesters, and she quickly scrolled down to Deans' number in her contacts and put her mobile to her ear with a shaking hand. _Please, please let them be alright, let them be okay._

She nearly shrieked with relief when she heard Deans' deep voice on the other end of the phone.

"Dean, thank God, thank God," she said over and over, feeling the relief ease the aching knot of tension that had formed in her chest when she had heard Deans' messages.

"Where the hell have you been, Miriana? I've been trying to ring you all day!" he sounded very angry, angry and worried.

"I had a bad Migraine, so I took a few pills and they knocked me right out. I've been conked out on my bed all day. Well, until Seth's vengeful ghost appeared out of nowhere and tried to kill me," she was amazed at how matter of fact her voice was, considering she had almost died an hour ago.

"Are you alright?" she could hear the concern in Deans' voice.

"Yes I'm fine...now," she replied, "What's the big panic? Why did you sound so worried in your messages?"

"Something was happening to hunters, to us as well. Victims we couldn't save from our past kept trying to rip our hearts out of chests. Twenty hunters are dead. We were worried you were one of them," Dean sighed, a rush of static over the phone.

"Well, I almost was. I take it you were behind them disappearing in a brilliant flash of blue light?"

"Yeah Bobby had a spell to get rid of them. But it's much bigger than some pissed off spirits on steroids. Did you see a brand on Seth's hand?" Dean asked. He sounded as weary as she felt: Miriana suspected he'd had a difficult night too.

"Yeah, actually. I recognized it from somewhere, but I was too busy getting my heart torn out of my chest."

"Bobby found out this thing with the spirits is called the rising of the witness," Dean explained, "That somebody raised those spirits from the afterlife on purpose. He also reckons it's a sign of-"

"The apocalypse," Miriana finished, as she remembered in a sudden flash what the brand was. She'd heard of the rising of the witnesses, read about it in the most arcane books in her aunts library in her house in Maine. But she never thought it would actually happen. _This is worrying,_ she thought to herself.

"Yeah. How did you know that?" Dean asked.

"I read a lot, Dean," Miriana replied wryly.

"Oh yeah, I forgot you're a nerd," Dean said, "But this is really bad, huh? We've never had a problem like this before. I mean this is the actual apocalypse, you know? Four horsemen and the whole shebang."

"Yes, I am aware what the apocalypse is Dean. Like I said, I read a lot. But it's a coincidence, don't you think," she'd suddenly had a startling thought, "I mean, you get pulled out of hell, angels are walking amongst us and signs of the apocalypse have started popping up all over the place."

There was a moment of long silence on the other end of the phone, and then Dean said,

"Well, Castiel showed up. And...Look I'd rather tell you in person, you know I hate phone conversations. We're at Bobby's."

"I'm one state over. I'll be there as soon as I can," she paused for a few seconds, trying to get the words right in her head, "Look I'm really glad you're okay, Dean. I mean...you're like...you know?" she couldn't get the words right. Miriana was excellent when it came to facts and knowledge, but she wasn't good at telling people how she really felt.

"Yeah...I know," he said quietly.

"See you soon." She flipped the phone shut and leaned back against the seat, rubbing her temples. It seemed Seth's attack had brought her migraine back, albeit not as bad as before.

The apocalypse. The actual apocalypse, with the fire raining from the sky and hell surging up and destroying the world. She'd never thought she would actually have to face it, never thought it would happen. It was just something demons rambled about when they were trying to scare hunters, just a distant nightmare, a vague threat that never really seemed real. But there was no denying that the rising of the witnesses was a sign of the apocalypse. After all, for what other reason would the angels walk amongst humans?

Her stomach rumbled loudly and obnoxiously, reminding her of how much she was craving a burger. She checked her watch; it read just twelve fifteen. She knew it was late, but she hoped the late diner she had seen down the road stayed open really late. She climbed awkwardly out of the car, her shoulders and ribs aching. She stretched, trying to ease the pain in her muscles, then locked her car and walked down the road to the diner. It was still open, it's light spilling out onto the pavement and was surprisingly busy, considering the late time. She waited in the queue and bought a double cheeseburger to go, then left the diner, holding the cardboard container in one hand. She sat in her car and ate it, feeling rather like a loser who had nowhere else to go; which was sort of the truth. Even though she was hungry, she chewed the burger without tasting it, still turning over the events of the night in her head. She was sick of thinking about things, sick of worrying. She wished she could just return to a simple hunter's life before her own life had been turned upside down; find the evil thing, kill it and have a celebratory beer. _Oh my God, I sound so much like Dean._

She threw the empty container in one of the bins by the entrance to motel (she hated having rubbish in her car), and checked out at the reception. She was just dropping her bags in the boot of her car when she heard a faint rustling sound behind her, almost like beating wings. She sensed someone behind her; she closed her hand around the pistol she had left in her bag and spun around, fully expecting to see a demon behind her, but she lowered her gun immediately when she saw who it was.

Castiel was stood in the halo of orange light from the streetlamp by her car, his dark hair ruffled, still wearing the trench coat and suit underneath. Her knees felt slightly weak, as they had done the last time she had seen him, and her heart began to pound out a jagged rhythm in her chest, so loudly she felt sure he must be able to hear it. She dropped the pistol into the trunk behind her, then folded her arms to hide her shaking hands.

"Miriana," he said, his deep voice once again completely devoid of any emotion, "How are you?"

She turned around and slammed the trunk with a loud bang that echoed around the car park of the motel, just so she had an excuse to look away from his face. She turned back to face him and leaned against her car.

"Not too bad, considering I nearly died an hour ago. But you know, it's a regular occurrence for someone like me. I suppose you knew about the rising of the witnesses?" she was surprised how much venom was in her voice. She didn't really mean for it to be there.

"We we made aware of it, yes," Castiel replied quietly.

"Well thanks for the help," she snapped, "Or were you all too busy preening your feathers?" the venom still hadn't left her voice, but he didn't react to her words, or at least if he did, it didn't show in his face.

"We had other problems to deal with. Larger concerns."

Miriana gave a short, bitter laugh, "Of course you did. You know, considering you went to all that trouble to pull Dean from hell, you guys don't seem all that bothered about keeping him alive. I mean, I'm completely insignificant, I understand that. But surely Dean is important?"

Something flashed across his eyes very briefly when she spoke, but it faded almost as quickly as it had appeared. He took a small step towards her.

"You are important," he said, an edge in his voice she didn't recognise. She shook her head and looked down at the pavement.

"I don't think so," she said in a small voice, "I never have been."

An awkward silence fell between them then, and Miriana had to make a conscious effort not to look at his face, afraid of what she might feel if she did. She sighed loudly.

"Look, I don't think that you just dropped in to check up on me. What is it you want? I take it has something to do with the apocalypse?" it was the only thing she could think to say to break the silence that always seemed to fall between them.

"You know that the rising of the witnesses is a sign of the apocalypse. It is one of the sixty six seals," Castiel explained. Miriana frowned, vaguely remembering the words written in Seth's diary and some distant memory of reading about it an ancient, dusty tome of biblical lore.

"I recognise that from somewhere. It's not good though, is it?" Miriana didn't really need to hear his answer, but it had to bad. In her experience, most things were.

"No. The seals are like locks on a door, and they are being opened by Lilith."

"A door to what?" Miriana asked, although she didn't really want to hear the answer.

"To Lucifer," Castiel replied. Miriana stood up a little straighter and shook her head. This was definitely new levels of craziness. Angels she had to deal with, but the devil didn't exist.

"There's no such thing," she said faintly, "It's just a myth." But she had to admit she didn't sound convinced.

"You didn't believe in angels, and yet here I stand before you," he said; she couldn't argue with that. She rolled her eyes, and slumped back against the car.

"Fair enough. But still, the devil?" Miriana realized with a sudden flash that this must have been what Seth was trying to warn her about before his death. She'd read it in his diary; this must have been what the demons were so determined to keep quiet.

"Lucifer has been trapped in the deepest, darkest corner of hell for thousands of years. I should know, I fought with my brothers and sisters to put him there. Now Lilith is trying to break him free."

"Thousands of years ago? How old are you, then?" Miriana asked, shocked at the possibility that he could be ancient, hundreds or even thousands of years old.

"Around two thousand years old," he replied, and Miriana thought she could detect the very slightest hint of sadness in his voice. Or perhaps it was just her imagination. She supposed it made sense that he was so old. After all, she had been struck by the ancient intelligence she saw in his eyes the first time she had seen him.

Miriana snorted, "Bloody hell, you must have to use some seriously powerful anti ageing cream, huh? And you must get tons of grey hairs."

He completely ignored her comments and continued speaking as if she hadn't said anything, "Lucifer cannot be allowed to escape. If he does, Hell will rise with him. He will destroy this world if gets free," Castiel locked eyes with her, and she didn't doubt for a second the truth in what he said.

"That's why you're here," she half whispered between her lips, "To stop the devil." He nodded. Miriana exhaled loudly and scrubbed at her forehead with the tips of her fingers, shifting from one foot to another.

"Why are you telling me this? I mean, why you specifically. The Winchesters could tell me all this, seeming as how you're perched on Dean's shoulder. Why have you come fluttering down from heaven just to fill me in."

He paused for a long second, as if he were trying to get the words right in his head. He looked away from her face and cast his eyes downward at the ground.

"I don't really know," he replied. He raised his head, "I just felt I should."

The awkward silence from before returned, and his gaze felt like a physical weight.

"I should leave," he said very quietly, almost whispering.

"Before you do," Miriana said, holding out her hand, as if she could keep him there, "I just wanted to say...thank you."

He tilted his head to the side, "Why?" he asked.

Miriana took a deep breath before she continued, "For...you know, saving Dean. I mean, I know it was your...orders, or whatever, but you brought him back. He means a lot to me, so you know...thanks." _Stop saying you know, you freak. I'm pretty sure he doesn't know,_ she thought to herself.

Miriana felt incredibly stupid and embarrassed, and the feeling wasn't helped by the fact that he was scrutinizing her with an odd expression on his face.

"You're welcome," he finally said, after a long moment.

"I really should leave now," he stated calmly.

"Right. Big angel business to do, huh? You should claim for overtime," she said.

She thought she saw the barest hint of a smile playing around his lips, before he vanished like he had last time. Miriana leaned heavily against the boot of her car, trying to ignore the dull ache that had returned in her head. She really should see a doctor about these headaches, but she never really had the time. She straightened up and stumbled to the drivers' door, pulled it open and threw herself into the leather seats. She hadn't wanted him to leave. She felt much better when he was around, far safer. She shouldn't trust him, as Miriana rarely ever trusted anyone, especially not someone she had met only twice and who was incredibly enigmatic and hard to understand. She started the car with a quiet purr, and as she pulled onto the road, she thought with a sense of faint trepidation, _Dean's going to kill me._


	12. Disturbia

_Hey guys, thanks so much for the reveiws and favourites, I really appreciate it and I'm really glad you're enjoying it! :)_

When Miriana arrived at Bobby's, she found that Sam and Dean had left, as they had received a tip off from a hunter friend of Bobby that demons were gathering in a small town outside of Minnesota.

"Dean said he was sorry, but they had to rush off and catch them before they disappeared," Bobby explained, handing Miriana an icy cold beer which she subsequently opened and took a long refreshing swig.

"Yeah, I understand," Miriana said with a sigh, "Demons are fickle bastards."

"He wanted me to fill you in about-"

"The apocalypse and everything, I know. Our angel friend appeared again," she said, before Bobby could launch into an unnecessary and long winded explanation.

"The angel told you?" Bobby asked, sounding thoroughly surprised.

Miriana gave a short laugh, "Don't sound so surprised Bobby. I'm not completely invisible to everyone except you and Sam and Dean."

Bobby held up his hands, "Look kid, I didn't mean that-"

Miriana cut him off again, "I know. I was only kidding."

Bobby took a long draught of beer, then leaned back in his chair and sighed.

"So angel boy's appearing to you too. You another one of God's warriors or something," Bobby questioned.

"No I don't think so," Miriana replied, "He didn't seem to have a good answer as to why he was there. Why he decided to speak to me."

"Maybe he's got a thing for you," Bobby suggested with a smirk, "You're not a bad lookin' girl, you know."

Miriana felt a blush spread up her cheeks, "Thanks, Bobby, but I highly doubt it."_ It's more like I've got a thing for him,_ she thought, although she would never admit it to Bobby.

"Well, you've gotta admit, havin' and angel perched on our shoulder is pretty damn useful."

"Dean certainly doesn't think so," mused Miriana.

"Yeah, he's just being pig headed," Bobby said with a sigh, "you know how stubborn he is."

"I understand why, though. I mean after everything that's happened. I'm not exactly the poster girl for the church and God, and everything, am I? I only have to believe in angels because I've had one stood in front of me."

Bobby nodded, "I know. I just wish he'd relax a little sometimes."

Miriana drained her beer in one long, final swig and put the empty bottle down on the kitchen table with a loud thud.

"I should probably get going soon," Miriana said. She didn't really want to leave; she had always found Bobby a comforting sort of person. He was uncomplicated and easy to talk to, and he was as close as an uncle to her.

"You can stay the night if you want. I've got a bed made up in the spare room," Bobby offered, but Miriana shook her head.

"No, I've got things to do. Thanks for the offer. And the beer," she added. She got to her feet and stretched her muscles, which were still aching faintly from her encounter with Seth's vengeful spirit. She picked up her car keys from the table and walked slowly to the front door, Bobby close behind her. Bobby patted her shoulder as she opened the door.

"You take care, kid. World's gettin' tough," Bobby said in a gruff voice. Just like Dean, he never found it easy to express his feelings. Miriana understood; she was no different.

"You too, Bobby," Miriana said quietly.

She opened the front door opened her car and clambered inside, waving to Bobby as she started the car. As she turned onto the highway outside Bobby's house, she tried very hard not to focus on the uncomfortable coil of anxiety in the pit of her stomach.

***

It took Miriana several hours to reach the motel that Sam and Dean were staying at, and by the time she had pulled into the parking lot, the sky was a deep midnight blue. She could see Dean's Impala parked a few spaces down. Just as she was about to get out of the car, when she saw Sam's unmistakeably tall, broad shouldered figure slip out of a door halfway down the motel building. She waited for Dean to follow behind him, but no figure followed Sam's, and he shut the door behind him, casting furtive glances around him. Miriana had the strong feeling that he was up to something he shouldn't be; Sam rarely ever did anything without Dean, and she didn't think that he was just slipping out for a light night snack. She slunk down in her seat slightly, in case Sam cast a look in her direction and saw her watching him through the windshield of her car. But he didn't see he, and he appeared to be waiting for something, shifting from one foot to another. He didn't even seem to have a weapon with him, which was very unusual. It was very stupid of him to leave the motel he was staying in unarmed, what with all the demons after him and Dean. She was considering confronting him, but just as she placed her hand on the door handle, a car pulled into the parking lot and drew to a stop in front of Sam, who opened the door and folded his tall frame inside. The car, which Miriana recognized as a Mustang, was an obnoxious shade of yellow that was vivid even in the darkness, with black stripes running from the bonnet to the boot, and ad the air of a car that had been used often and rarely serviced, evidenced by the loud rattle of the engine. She couldn't see the person who was driving clearly except for a vague silhouette, but it looked like a woman, as far as Miriana could tell. The car turned in the lot and drove onto the road out that ran past the hotel. For a few short seconds, she struggled to make a decision; at first, she thought she should wake Dean and tell him that Sam had slipped off, but instead she made the choice to follow Sam and discover what he was doing. Her curiosity had been piqued, and by the time she had woken Dean, Sam and the woman in the car would be long gone. She started her car, and it pulled smoothly out the lot and onto the road. She deliberately drove a little slower than usual, so that Sam would not realized her was being followed. She had a feeling that her skulking around and following him would not go down well. At least there was no chance that Sam would hear her car, as unlike the battered in front, Mustang, her Mercedes was a new model, well cared for, and therefore a virtually silent drive.

As she followed behind them, careful to stay as hidden as possible, she felt a growing sense of unease, accompanied by a string of worrying questions. Why was Sam sneaking out in the middle of the night, without his brother? Who was the other person in the car with him? Did Dean know what he was doing? She had an answer to the last question at least: she very much doubted Dean was aware that his brother had left the motel, he hadn't taken the Impala either and this suggested to Miriana that he didn't want anyone to know he had left. Suddenly, the cryptic warning Seth had given her before his death sprang into her mind, and she felt a shiver race up her spine. Both Dean and she knew of Sam's powers, although neither of them understood them, or why he had been given them, and now she wondered if the months without his brother, when Miriana had not seen or spoken to him, had driven Sam into testing his powers. But no, it couldn't be that; after all, he had promised Dean he had not gone down that road, and he wouldn't lie. He had told her at Dean's grave all those months ago, promised that he would not delve into his powers. She had believed him wholeheartedly. However, the more she thought about it, the less she could convince herself that it hadn't just been lies he had fed her.

After about fifteen minutes, and several turns down dark roads, the Mustang came to a stop outside a run-down warehouse that loomed up out of the darkness. Miriana parked her car around the corner, underneath a sign that gave the name of the street, four twenty five Waterman. She climbed out of her car, shutting the door behind her as quietly as possible, hoping that Sam wouldn't hear her. She poked her head around the corner, to see Sam and the woman climb out of the Mustang and walk through the doors of the warehouse, which were hanging off their hinges, the wood chipped and the glass cracked. She slipped after them, treading as quietly as possible, and followed them through the battered doors. She found herself in the main room of the warehouse; the high windows were streaked with grime, so that only a little of the harsh orange light from the streetlamps filtered through the dirty glass. There was rubbish and debris strewn everywhere, pieces of broken machinery lying discarded around the room like rusted corpses. There was a metal grille at the front of the large room, and Miriana hid behind this, and she blended in well with the shadows due to the black leather jacket, black jeans and black boots. The woman flipped on a light inside the room, and a light bulb flared into life, casting a pool of harsh white light, and Miriana could see her features clearly.

She was pretty, with long flowing dark hair, dark eyes and full rosy lips, and she was dressed in jeans and a tight fitting top. Miriana couldn't shake the odd sense that she knew her from somewhere, but she couldn't think where. The woman brushed her arm against Sam's sleeve and murmured something that Miriana couldn't hear. When the woman stepped forwards and Sam stepped to one side, she saw something that made her heart jump with fear, and the hairs on her arm stand on end. The sense of trepidation she had felt in the car had increased tenfold.

There was a man bound to a chair with thick ropes in the centre of the room, his head lolling as if he was unconscious. Miriana had the strong urge to run out and stop Sam from whatever it was he was about to do, but she was felt frozen to the spot by some strange desire to see what was about to happen. The woman stood at the back of the chair, arms folded, her dark eyes flicking from Sam to the bound man in the chair very few seconds. Miriana glanced up to see an iron pentagram hanging above the chair, and when she looked at the floor, another pentagram was sprayed onto the floor in red paint. Demon. She wondered how long the demon had been bound within the devil's trap, as he had been in the warehouse as soon as Sam and the woman had entered, and how he had got there. Another shiver of fear passed over her; she pressed up against the grille a little harder, trying to see what was happening. Sam kicked the chair, and the figure raised his head blearily.

"Where's Lilith?" Sam questioned in a deadly quiet tone. The demon raised his eyes to Sam's, and Miriana saw them flicker a deep liquid black, drowning the pupil and iris.

"Kiss my ass!" he spat. Sam let out a breath and his face contorted with hatred.

"I'd watch myself if I were you," Sam retorted sharply. _Why is Sam interrogating a demon without Dean?_ Miriana thought to herself, worried about the answer she might find.

"Why? 'Cos you're Sam Winchester, Mr. Big hero? And yet here you are, slutting around with some demon. Real hero," the demon hissed. Miriana's mind reeled, and she felt a burst of hot anger blossom in her chest. The dark haired woman was a demon, and Sam was sneaking out in the early hours of the morning with her like they were having a sordid affair. After every problem they had had with demons over the years, and here was Sam consorting with one.

"Shut your mouth!" Sam snapped. She could hear the anger and tension in his voice, saw his fist curl in agitation. The demon woman behind the chair shifted, her eyes on Sam's face, measuring his reaction.

"Tell me about those months without your brother. All the things you and this demon bitch do in the dark. Tell me hero," his voice mocking Sam with every word. Every line of Sam's face was alive with fury, his broad shoulders full of tension, his tightly clenched fists shaking at his sides. Then he lifted his hand, fingers outstretched and squeezed his eyes shut, his face screwed up in concentration. The demon bound to the chair began to choke, as if he was gagging on something stuck in his throat. Black smoke began to pour out of his mouth, gushing over his lips like black blood, coughing out the demonic spirit as if it were water. Sam made no sound, uttered no incantation, he simply held out his hand and the demon was being forced out the man's body, purged out like a poison. Miriana was rooted to the stop, unable to move, she was so stunned and shocked by what she saw. All she could think was, he promised me, he promised me he wouldn't...

The demon smoke cascade to the floor like a black fountain, sinking into the floor, fire flaring up in a circle around the chair, following the line of the pentagram etched onto the floor. The fire died down, the hot red light fading into darkness, the man slumping back into the chair. Miriana sagged back against the wall, breathing heavily as if she had just run a marathon, barely able to believe her eyes. She saw something flicker in the darkness; she looked across to see Dean pressed up against the grille like she was, watching the scene before, a mix of panic, anger and confusion in his eyes. He looked at her, his eyes searching for an answer in hers. Sam was checking the man's pulse, and the woman leaned over him, a satisfied gleam in her eyes.

"How'd that feel?"she asked. Sam glanced up from untying the thick ropes around the man in the chair.

"Good, no more headaches!" Sam said excitedly, and Miriana was reminded forcibly of a young Sam bounding in after he had shot his first shotgun shell and hit the target. But she wasn't happy to hear the excitement in his tone after what he had done.

"None! That's good!" she exclaimed, as Sam pulled the ropes of the man.

"Hey, Hey, I got you, it's alright," he said to the man, who was coming round, muttering and gazing around the room groggily, on the verge of unconsciousness.

Dean moved at the other side of the room; he was clearly stepping out to face Sam, and Miriana followed him, crossing her arms across her chest. Sam's eyes fell on them, and a look of horror passed over his face, and he let go of the man and held up his hands, almost in a gesture of surrender. His green eyes were wide with anxiety.

"So, Dean began, stepping forwards into the light, his boots thumping loudly across the floor of the warehouse, "Anything you wanna tell me, Sam?"

Sam's eyes passed from Dean's furious face to Miriana's, perhaps hoping that she would understand, but the desperation in his eyes increased at Miriana's thunderous expression. There was no way she could understand any of what she had just seen.

"Hold on, okay, just let me ex-" Sam began to plead, but Dean cut across him.

"You say let me explain? You can explain this?" the fury in his voice was barely controlled, "Why don't you start with, who she is," he jerked a finger at the woman, "and what the hell is she doing here?"

Sam shifted uncomfortably, his eyes shifting from Miriana's face to Dean's, a pleading expression on his face. The dark haired woman gave an oddly predatory smile, showing off perfectly even, white teeth.

"Good to see you again Dean," she said, "Miriana," she inclined her head in Miriana's direction.

"Ruby? Is that Ruby?" Dean asked, but Miriana didn't need to hear the answer. The burst of anger she had felt before flared even hotter in her chest, and she clenched her fists so tight her nails dug deep crescents into her palms. She felt a flare of hatred accompany the anger at the sound of Ruby's name. She was nothing but a manipulative, cold heated demon, no better than the rest that crawled out of the pit every day, and she couldn't believe that Sam was still clinging to her. Miriana took a step forwards, her narrowed eyes focused on Ruby, and Sam held out a hand as if to stop her, but it was Dean's restraining hand on her upper arm that stopped her leaping on Ruby and tearing out her throat. There was a long second of silence, and then Dean rushed forwards, grabbing the knife from his belt and swinging it towards Ruby's chest. Ruby punched Dean hard in the side of his face and Dean staggered backwards; Miriana took the opportunity and smashed her fist into Ruby's face, and she was about to hit her again when Ruby gave a vicious punch to her stomach, and Miriana fell backwards onto the floor, winded.

"No, no stop, stop!" Sam was shouting, Dean had recovered from the punch and was still attempting to sink the knife into Ruby, the wickedly jagged blade glinting in the harsh light. Miriana tried to get to her feet, but Ruby's fist had felt like an iron bar, and she gasped desperately for air, clutching her throbbing stomach. When she looked up, she saw that Ruby had hold of Dean around his throat and had him pinned against the wall; Miriana struggled desperately against the crippling pain in her stomach to try and help Dean. Sam was still shouting, pleading with Ruby.

"No, Ruby, stop it!" Sam barked.

She gripped Dean tighter for a few seconds whilst he struggled to prize Ruby's fingers away from his throat, choking and trying to get air into his lungs. She glared at him for a little longer, then she released him, and he slid down the wall, retching and clutching at his bruised throat. Miriana managed to get to her feet, massaging her stomach, still aching from Ruby's powerful punch to her stomach and glanced at Sam, who was watching the scene unfold before him with wide eyes.

"Aren't you an obedient little bitch," Dean spat at Ruby, who merely glared at him in response. Suddenly, the man in the chair groaned and shifted in his chair, breathing heavily.

"Ruby! Ruby, he's hurt. Go!" Sam commanded. Ruby and Dean were still having glaring at each other, unveiled hatred in their eyes, but she turned away to the man in the chair and slung his arm over her shoulder and helped him to his feet.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" Dean snapped, as Ruby headed towards the door supporting the man, who seemed close to unconsciousness.

"ER," she snapped back, "Unless you wanna go another round first?"

Dean said nothing, merely watched her go, passing through the front doors of the dilapidated warehouse. Miriana felt like running after her and repaying her for the crippling punch to her stomach, but she decided against it, as her temper, until she managed to her it under control, would only make the situation worse. They all stood, wrapped in a tense, angry silence for what felt like minutes, until Dean, with a furious glance in Sam's direction, strode out of the room without a word.

"Dean. Dean!" Sam called, but his brother didn't stop. Sam then turned to Miriana, holding out a placatory hand, his eyes begging for her to understand, but she shot him the filthiest look she could and swept past him.

"Miriana..." he called weakly, but she ignored him. She heard the grumble of the Impala's engine and saw the glare of the headlights as Dean pulled away from the pavement and drove off down the road. Ruby's beaten up Mustang was gone. No chance she could have a catfight, then. She heard Sam's footsteps behind her and felt him put a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off, and his hand dropped to his side, his face crestfallen.


	13. Liar It Takes One To Know One

_Hi guys, I'm introducing Miriana's aunt in this chapter, and we'll be meeting her properly next chapter and her cousin, so tell me what you think of her family and whether you like the characters or not. Thanks guys! :)_

"Looks like I'll have to drive you to the motel, seeming as how Dean's buggered off," Miriana said with a resigned sigh. She was not in the mood to sit in a car with him, such a vivid reminder of all his broken promises. She stormed across to her car, climbed in and slammed the door with rather more force than was necessary. Sam climbed in beside her, shut the door, and then slunk down low in his seat, gazing down at the floor. She jammed the key into the ignition, and pulled out of her parking space violently, so that Sam slid across the smooth leather seats and slammed against the car door.

They drove in a silence so thick it could be cut with a knife, before Sam broke the awkward silence.

"How's your stomach?" he asked in a quiet voice.

"Fine," she snapped. Sam's head dropped a little more, still scrutinizing the knees of his jeans.

"Miriana, I'm sor-"

"You're sorry!?" shouted, her voice rising in her anger, "You're sorry?! See I don't think you really are, Sam. In fact, it seemed to me that you were getting quite a kick out of it, to be honest. Well, you and that demon whore you're screwing," her words came out laced with venom, and she saw Sam flinch.

"I'm not screwing her," Sam mumbled.

"Right. Whatever, Sam. I can believe that. I mean, it's not like you've been lying to me. Oh wait you have. For months!"

"Look-" Sam began, but she cut across him, her voice shaking with anger.

"Everything you've told me has just been lies, Sam! You promised me, at Dean's grave, that you wouldn't mess around with these weirdo powers. You promised, at your own brothers grave! You know what will happen, what that bitch Ruby will do to you!"

"Ruby's not like you think," Sam said, picking at a frayed thread on his jeans.

"No? Then what is she like, Sam? Huh? All sweetness and light? She is nothing but a manipulative bitch who is twisting you into-into-"

"Into what?" Sam asked, flaring up at once. When she didn't answer, he asked again, "Into what?!"

"Alright Sam you want me to say it? A freak! That's what she's making you into, Sam. Nothing more than a demonic freak."

She glanced at his face, and instantly regretted her words.

"I'm only trying to help you, Sam," she said in a softer tone.

"No, you're not," he snapped, "You're just like Dean. Anything you don't understand you just condemn. You're ignorant, Miriana. You wouldn't understand."

His words stung, and she instantly felt uncontrollably angry again.

"Yeah, you're right Sam, I don't understand. So tell me, tell why you trust her so much, why you feel the need to explore these powers!"

"I can't tell you," he mumbled, giving the thread on his jeans a savage tug. She turned to face him, face searching his.

"What am I to you, Sam? Do I mean absolutely nothing to you?"

"You know how much I care about you," Sam said.

"No, you can't possibly care, Sam, because you tell me nothing at all," her voice was shaking again, but not with anger this time, "You and Dean and Bobby are the only people I really trust, the only people that really seem to care about. You're like a brother to me. And yet, you've hidden everything from me! So I can't be very important to you at all!" she said, her voice trembling. To her horror, she felt frustrated, angry tears splash down her cheeks. He reached out to touch her arm where it lay on the steering wheel, but she jerked her hand away. She brushed the tears away quickly.

"Don't bother, Sam," silence fell for few seconds, and then she snapped, "All those months when you wouldn't return my calls, when I was worried sick, and that was what you were doing. Crawling around in the dark with that hell bitch. Do you have any idea what others hunters are going to think, what they'll do if they find out? You'll just be another thing to for them to hunt. And you know what? I wouldn't blame them!" she threw the words at him, hoping that they would hit home. He said nothing, merely continued to pick at his frayed jeans. She was gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles were white; she was battling with her furious anger at Sam and her concern for his safety. She saw the motel sign at the end of the road, and she turned into the car park and slammed on the brakes hard. There was no sign of Deans' Impala.

He sat for a few seconds longer, opening and closing his mouth several times as if he was trying to think of something to say, but nothing came. Miriana couldn't look at him, afraid she might cry again if she did, so she merely glared angrily out of the windshield. The heat of her anger had faded slightly, leaving her feeling oddly hollow and very tired. She slumped back against the seat and rubbed her temples and felt Sam's hand on her shoulder, but this time, she didn't shrug it off.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"Yeah," she sighed, "Whatever. I'll see you around Sam."

He understood that this was his cue to go. He knew her well enough to know not to push her when she was so angry and upset; she was very much like Dean in that way. He unfolded his tall frame from the car with a muttered "Bye."

She stayed in the car and watched him until he was safely inside the motel room and had shut the door behind him. She saw lights flare up inside the room, and she went to start up her car. But she found she couldn't leave; she wanted to run in the motel room and hug him as tightly as possible, get him to tell her that everything would be alright, like he had done when they were teenagers. But things would not be alright like they had been when they were teenagers, because the world was so much darker now, and they was no way she could protect Sam. He had been right, she was ignorant and she didn't understand what to do next, she still felt like a child desperately looking for guidance and help. She had never felt more alone or confused before. Or more frightened.

***

Miriana had been driving for about half an hour, when her mobile phone rung, the harsh ringtone cutting loudly through the silence in the car. She reached across and checked the caller ID, fully expecting it to be Dean or Sam, but instead the number that came up on the screen was that of her aunty Eve, in Maine.

"Hi aunty."

"Oh sweetie, it's good to hear your voice. I haven't heard from you for ages," Eve sounded highly relieved, "How are you?"

"Alright," Miriana replied, trying to sound as bright as possible.

"Oh, that bad, huh?"

"But I said-" Miriana began, but Eve cut her off with a laugh.

"Sweetie, I've known you since you were in diapers. I can tell when something's wrong."

Miriana sighed, trying to find the right place to begin. _Well it's this thing; the apocalypse is coming, and Sam's using these weirdo powers that worry me, and Dean just won't open his mind about anything, and then there's this angel..._

"It's kind of a long story," Miriana said, "Do you know about Dean?"

Eve laughed again, "Heard about it? All the hunters I know have never stopped talking about it. The day it happened, the Sprit Room was positively buzzing with it."

The Spirit Room was a hunter's bar rather like the roadhouse had been, before it had been destroyed by Azazel and his horde of demons. She supposed she shouldn't be surprised that other hunters had heard of Dean's mysterious return from Hell. It was surprising how quickly news got around hunters; they could gossip with the best of the Hollywood starlets. This only made her think of Sam, and how easy it would be for hunters to find out exactly what Sam could do, and his dark and dangerous powers. And she knew they wouldn't like it. Hunters were a suspicious bunch due to the nature of their job, and they weren't a tolerant bunch either; it didn't help that many of them still held Sam responsible for the opening of the devil's gate back in Wyoming, thinking it part of his master plan to lead a demon army. It only took someone like Gordon Walker, with the right motivation to take it upon themselves to kill Sam. But the worst part of it was, she didn't really blame them for their deep mistrust of Sam. At the moment, she barely trusted him herself.

"Well, the reason I rung you, honey, was that I've been seeing some pretty serious omens around here. Someone big is in town. I'm thinking it might even be Lilith."

At the sound of the demon's name, Miriana tensed all over. She had to be honest; Lilith scared her, especially after what had happened with Dean and the state he had been left in. But at the same time, she felt a burst of hatred for Lilith, and for all the people she had killed and the lives she had destroyed, and the idea of hunting her down suddenly felt quite appealing.

"Lilith? You're sure?" she asked.

"Ninety-nine percent. They're the same omens I saw when Dean died," Eve explained.

"You need help hunting her?" Miriana asked, slightly cheered by the prospect that she might be able to get some revenge for every injustice Lilith or any of her coven had ever committed against her or those she loved.

"Honey, I wasn't thinking about _hunting_ them. You know how dangerous they are," her aunt gave a nervous laugh; "I was just ringing to let you know. It was more of an excuse to have a chat with you."

Miriana sighed loudly, "Look, Aunty, any chance I can get to take on Lilith's demons', I'll take it," then, before her aunt could interrupt, "I know how dangerous it is. Believe me. But i can handle it."

Her aunt gave a loud sigh at the other end of the phone; it sounded like a crackling wave of static, "I wish I hadn't told you now," she muttered, irritated, "I should have known you'd go leaping after them."

Miriana laughed, "I thought you'd have known me better by now."

"Yes well, at least I'll get to see you now," Eve said, clearly cheered by the prospect, "How long will it take you to get here?"

"I'll probably be there by tomorrow if I drive straight through the night," Miriana replied, stepping on the brakes hastily as the traffic lights at the intersection in the road suddenly flashed red.

"Driving through the night?" her aunt questioned, sounding worried, "Don't fall asleep at the wheel and crash the car will you?"

Miriana rolled her eyes, glad that her aunt couldn't see, "I won't aunty."

"Alright. Well you be careful."

"I will. Love you," Miriana said, preparing to hang up the phone.

"Love you too. And drink lots of coffee! And if you get tired, make s-"

Casting her eyes skyward again, she ended the call halfway through her aunt's ministrations and replaced her mobile on the passenger seat. She didn't blame her aunt Eve for her anxiety, as Miriana was not known for being particularly cautious, ruled as she was too often by her own hot head and anger. Considering she liked to think she was a fairly rational person, she had to admit she had not always made the best choices.

She sighed and picked up her mobile again, flipping through her contacts list until she found Dean's number. It rung to answer phone, which didn't surprise her; he was no doubt having a blistering argument with Sam, or he was drowning his sorrows in a bottle of whisky. When it came to voicemail, she waited for the message to end, then said;

"Hi Dean it's Miriana. Look, I just wanted to tell you that I'm going to be in Boston for a while, just working a case with my aunt. Just thought I should let you know. Well, anyway, hope you're okay...and...see you later."

She hung up the phone and dropped it back onto the passenger seat and stepped on the gas pedal so that her Mercedes accelerated smoothly, flying down the dark road, the trees on either side of the road nothing but a grey blur. The roads were empty, and if she wanted to make it to her aunt's as quickly as possible, she might as well break a few speed limits on the back roads whilst no one was around. She glanced at the clock on the dashboard; the bright green display read eleven thirty two.

She had been worried about Dean ever since his return from hell, and she was concerned that the sudden revelation about Sam's demonic powers might drive him to do something stupid. It made sense that dying, going to hell and then waking up in his own grave would leave Dean just a little damaged, but there was something else, some other underlying problem that he wasn't talking about. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that there had been lots of signs that something was weighing on Dean's mind; she had seen a small pile of empty whisky bottles by his bed back in the motel room in Pontiac, noticed the dark rings under his eyes that showed evidence of his sleepless nights, nights that she suspected were filled with nightmares. She could only imagine what horrors he had seen in hell, she couldn't even begin to comprehend what it must have been like, and even though he maintained he didn't remember anything of hell, she sometimes saw a spark of something in his eyes that suggested her knew more than he would tell them. She just wished he would talk to her, opened up a little bit. She was sick of people keeping secrets from her.

She realized that she still hadn't spoken to Dean face to face about her encounters with Castiel, or about why he had visited her. She decided that telling him about the strong emotions she felt would not be a good idea and would no doubt only alienate him further, seeming as how he was so hard headed about anything to do with God and angels. She had been up until a few weeks ago, but things had changed a little, and she was forced to accept that she might have been wrong. She didn't like being proved wrong.

She was secretly hoping that Castiel would appear again, hoping that he might even be able to offer her advice. She doubted it however. He wasn't her guardian angel after all, as much as might wish he was. From what she knew about angels, there were less guardian angels and more vengeful soldiers. But still she couldn't help herself from listening out for that fluttering sound that usually announced his presence, or the sound of his deep, quiet voice.

Miriana switched the radio on, but found that there was nothing but hissing static on most of the stations she tried. She gave up and switched off the radio, then reached for her favourite Johnny Cash album, then settled back into her seat for the long drive to New Richmond.


	14. Feeling Good

_Hey guys, thanks for all the reveiws and favourites I really appreciate it and I'm really glad you're enjoying it! :)_

In an old mansion nestled in the middle of a dark swathe of woods, Lilith had just received a piece of particularly good news.

Her most trusted lieutenant had just contacted her to say that Sam Winchester's powers were growing stronger each day, that he was the strongest he had ever been.

Azazels' boy prodigy had been a real thorn in her side ever since she had fought her way out of hell when the devil's gate had been opened two years ago. She had been delighted when she found out that his brother, the just as annoying and troublesome Dean, had sold his soul for the life of his younger brother, and she had positively shrieked with mirth when she had been told that she was the owner of his contract. It seemed the plan was perfect; kill Dean Winchester, then kill his younger brother before he could become competition for the complete dominance of hell that she hoped for. Two for the price of one.

However, it had soon proved that her perfect plan was not as perfect as she'd hoped. Sam had proved impervious to her powers, protected by Azazels' demonic blood pumping through his veins. Dean may have been successfully dragged to hell kicking and screaming, but the younger Winchester, the real threat, was still alive, his unknown powers stronger than Lilith could ever have expected. Her plan had not gone as she had wanted. She threw a real temper tantrum after that; in her fit of rage she had killed several of her demons and gone out on a killing spree in a small town in Minnesota, carving a path of destruction wherever she went. Lilith was not the sort of demon that you crossed and lived to tell the tale; so during her temper tantrum, most of the demons under her command had had the good sense to lie low and keep out of her way.

She had calmed down after a few days and returned to her coven, desperate to find a way to kill Sam and make her plan work. When she had discovered the sixty six seals, she had found out that everything was going exactly as she wanted. The elder Winchester had played his part well in the pit, and the burgeoning powers in Sam Winchester were just what she needed; in fact she needed them to be even stronger. So she had recruited her best and most trusted demon, in secret, to carry out her work. And so far, they had done an excellent job, done exactly as she had asked, and would be richly rewarded when everything had fallen into place.

All of the demons knew of Lilith's plan to break the sixty six seals and release Lucifer from the deep, dark corner of hell he was imprisoned in and unleash hell's dark prince onto the unsuspecting human world. But none of them knew of her plans for Sam Winchester, and it was vital that part of her plan remained secret. Many of the demons were afraid of Sam's powers, terrified of what he could now accomplish, but it was essential, and they would see that soon. But for now, she would keep quiet.

She remembered Lucifer of course; he had burned so brightly at the height of his power he was seared into her memory. The fallen angel who had turned against God and humanity, his power was seductive and was strong enough to tear God's precious world apart at the seams, enough to burn all of humanity into ash where they stood. Throughout the ages, the humans had bleated about Lucifer's evil and hidden in their churches, but Lilith didn't believe he was evil; he was simply too intelligent and powerful to bow before a lesser race, and he was cast out because of it. She still remembered the awful feeling of loss and despair when he had been imprisoned, so deep in hell not even Azazel or herself, both powerful demons could reach him. And not long after, she had been imprisoned too, trapped in her burning cage, unable to get out for thousands and thousands of years, until Azazel's plan to open the devils gate had been set into motion.

As for the angels pulling Dean from hell, well, she had to admit it was a problem. With the elder Winchester back on the scene, her plans, especially those for Sam, were likely to not go quite as smoothly as she had planned. But she wasn't in the slightest bit scared of Dean; the idea that he was God's chosen warrior made her laugh. He was just an annoying insect to be crushed. The angels were pinning all their hopes on him it seemed, and they would be disappointed. He wasn't strong enough. The angels were more of a problem, seeming as how they were so determined to stop her breaking the seals, but it was merely a distraction. It wouldn't stop her bringing Lucifer up from hell, as nothing could; it just meant that it would take her longer than it should do. Which was frustrating.

But Lilith was the happiest she had been in a long time, four seals had already been broken, the angels were fighting a losing battle, and the news she had received about Sam had considerably brightened her outlook. Yes, things were going very well indeed.


	15. Home

_Hi guys, I'm introducing whats left of Miriana's family, so tell me what you think. There's a bit of backstory coming but it'll pick up after that. Thanks again for all the reveiws and favourites! :)_

By the time Miriana reached her aunt Eves' house in New Richmond, it was almost midnight and she was practically falling asleep at the wheel, as the strong black coffee she had drunk at the gas station an hour ago was beginning to wear off. She turned down Ash Street, a long winding road along which were dotted several large, old houses surrounded by sparse woods on either side. Her aunts' house stood at the very end of the long road, overlooking Lake Pleasant, a large tranquil lake that Miriana could remember swimming in when she was a teenager. She drove past the wooden gates that her aunt had left open and came to a halt on the drive, the gravel crunching beneath the tires of her car. The house was one of the smallest on the lane, but it was by far the most beautiful in Miriana's opinion. It was old but well cared for, no sign of wear and tear, thanks to her aunt's ministrations. Miriana took a deep breath of the clean air, inhaling the smell of roses and grass from the perfectly manicured garden. The security light by the front door blinked on as soon as she stepped out of the car, casting dark jagged shadows over the trees at the edge of her aunts' well tended garden. Miriana had just pulled her bag from the boot of her car when she heard quick footsteps and something barrelled into her so hard she dropped the holdall she was carrying.

For a second she prepared to punch whatever it was that was crushing the air out of her ribcage, when she smelt the familiar aftershave of her cousin, Nate. She managed to extricate her arm and awkwardly patted him on the back. He released her and stepped back, a beaming smile plastered across his face.

"How's it going, kid?" she said, ruffling his dark hair. He wasn't a kid at all; he was nineteen, but she had spent a lot of time with him at her aunts' in her teenage years when he was still running around a school yard with his friends, and couldn't help but still see him as the excitable kid who had followed her around and pestered her with questions. He wasn't Eve's son; like Miriana he had lost his parents, who had both been hunters, when he was a child and Eve had taken him. He lived at his aunts' most of the year, as she was currently training him how to hunt the supernatural, much as she had done with Miriana. Along with the Winchesters, he was as close as a brother to her.

"Not bad, not bad, hey guess what?!" he asked, but before she had chance to reply, he said, "I hunted down a ghost the other day, I salted and burned it and everything!"

"That's gr-" she began, but he cut her off again, bouncing up and down on his heels.

"And, I totally saved the life of this hot chick, and I even got her number!"

"That's fantastic Nate," she said, pulling him into another hug, "It's good to see you."

"Yeah, you too. And guess what else?!"

He opened his mouth to launch into another excited story, but then a voice behind him said,

"Stop pestering her Nate, and take her bags inside, will you?"

Her aunt Eve was stood behind Nate, wearing a long, dark purple dressing gown over a lilac silk nightgown. Her long dark hair, which was shot through with streaks of grey, was pulled back into a plait that reached halfway down her back. Whilst Nate struggled to juggle Mirianas' heavy bags, she ran to her aunt, who pulled her into a tight hug. She pressed her face into Eves' shoulder, breathing in the familiar smell of lavender and freesia perfume. Eve stroked her hair, then released her and held her at arm's length, studying her face.

"Well, it's good to see without bruises or cuts, sweetie. Usually when you come you look like you've been through the wars, all battered," she patted Mirianas' cheek, "You look tired though. And you look awfully pale, honey. Come inside and I'll make you a hot chocolate to warm you up, how does that sound?"

Miriana nodded, suddenly aware of how tired she was. Eve put her arm around her shoulder, then shouted over her shoulder,

"Nate, hurry up and bring her bags!"

Nate grumbled something in response, then there was a considerable amount of scuffling and cursing, and he staggered up the drive and tripped through the door, dropping her bags unceremoniously at the foot of the long staircase. He leaned against the wall, breathing heavily.

"How much crap have you got in those Miriana?" he asked breathlessly, gesturing towards her bag.

"Don't swear!" barked Eve, "and don't just leave them there, take them up to her room," she turned to Miriana and said far more sweetly, "I'll sort out your hot chocolate, hun."

Nate mouthed a string of swear words at Eve as she swept into the spacious kitchen, then heaved a sigh and bent to pick up her bags again.

"I'll do that Nate," Miriana said, but he waved a hand.

"No, never mind, she'll only beat the crap out of me," Nate grumbled, then threw her bags over his shoulder and began a slow descent up the stairs. Miriana watched him make his steady way up the stairs with a smile playing around the corner of her lips, and then she turned and walked into the kitchen.

The polished wood surfaces gleamed faintly in the soft light emanating from the sconces set into the sandy tiled walls, and the smell of cocoa and hot milk was wafting from the far corner of the kitchen, where Eve was preparing her hot chocolate in a tall mug. Miriana sat down heavily at the bar stools set around the island in the middle of the room, and Eve carefully set the mug down beside Miriana, who curled her hands around it gratefully, warming her stiff hands. Eve sat opposite her, resting her arms on the table.

"With full cream milk and marshmallows, just how you like it," Eve said with a smile, gesturing at the mug.

"Thanks," Miriana said, taking a sip. It reminded her forcefully of days spent huddled in a blanket with hot chocolate in a flask, with her aunt at the side of Lake Pleasant whilst a young Nate tried and failed to catch a decent fish for dinner. They had ended up getting a Chinese takeaway from the small town down the road instead, after staying at the lakeside until ten o'clock, thanks to Nate's determination to catch a trout. He had eventually been persuaded by Miriana and Eve to give up, otherwise he no doubt would have sat there all night, waiting.

They were both quiet for a long minute before her aunt said,

"We've got a lot to talk about Miriana."

Miriana sighed loudly and said, "I know, but not tonight okay. I'd probably only fall asleep halfway through our conversation anyway."

Her aunt patted the back of her hand, "We'll talk tomorrow."

At that moment Nate came bounding into the kitchen; his sheer energy always made Miriana feel exhausted and quite old in an odd way.

"Right guys I'm off to bed. I need my beauty sleep if I'm gonna meet the lovely Tiffany tomorrow!"

"Tiffany?" Miriana questioned.

"You know, the hot chick whose life I saved and who is forever in my debt. Don't you listen to anything I say? I told you like, ten minutes ago!"

Miriana rolled her eyes, "Of course."

He gave Eve a quick hug then kissed Miriana on the cheek and ruffled her hair, before he turned and bounded back up the stairs, his footsteps thundering loudly. Eve sighed.

"I know I pester him, but he's a good kid really. Just a bit immature sometimes you know. Not like you. You were always had the mind of someone much older than a teenager."

Miriana was silent again, gazing into the contents of her mug, and then Eve said, "He loves it when you come. You're like his big sister. He listens to you more than he listens to me."

Miriana drained the last of the hot chocolate from the mug, then stood up, rolling her tired, tense shoulders.

"I'm going to have to go to bed now. I'm knackered," Miriana yawned.

"Before you do," her aunt stood up and walked over to the cabinets and pulled a cardboard folder from the shelf and handed it to Miriana, who flicked through the contents. Inside it were page after page of weather reports, newspaper cuttings, excerpts from old books on arcane lore; a folder full of omens.

"The folder I put together on the coven of demons I've been tracking. Take a look through it."

Miriana tucked the folder under her arm and gave her aunt a goodnight hug, breathing in her perfume again. She stumped wearily up the stairs and traipsed down to the end of the hall were her room was, and pushed open the door.

Her aunt had prepared for her arrival; she could smell the clean, comforting smell of freshly changed bed sheets mixed with the smell of roses, a vase of which stood on the dressing table facing the bed. She ran her fingers over the velvety scarlet blooms and cast her eyes around the room. It was the same as she always remembered, the bookcases in the corner, the soft double bed facing the dressing table, and the glass doors that led out onto the small balcony outside her room. The silvery moonlight was glinting of the surface of Lake Pleasant, the trees of the forest cloaking the hills around the water swaying very gently in the breeze. The only thing that was different in the room was the small television in the corner, which, someone, Nate no doubt (as their aunt was useless when it came to technology) had updated with a new, high definition version. Clean towels had been neatly folded and placed on the cabinet in the en-suite bathroom joined to Mirianas' room, and her aunt had left several books on the dressing table with a note attached to them that read: thought you would enjoy these if you get the chance. She rifled through her bags, which had been placed at the foot of the double bed by Nate, and pulled out her old, tattered sweatpants and a baggy Muppets t-shirt; she hadn't been able to get the bloodstains from her encounter with Seth out of her iron maiden t-shirt, and had been forced to throw it away. She scrubbed the black eyeliner away from her eyes, brushed her teeth, dragged a comb through her hair, then shuffled over to bed and lay down gratefully on the spongy mattress and pulled the covers up to her chin. She flipped on the tiffany lamp on her bedside table and pulled the folder out and flicked through the contents again. She tried to concentrate as she was desperate to find out about the omens her aunt had mentioned, but her eyelids felt impossibly like lead weights. The folder slipped out of her hands and her eyes fluttered shut as she fell into the first dreamless, uninterrupted sleep she had had in a long time.


	16. The Memory Remains

_Hi guys, there's a lot of backstory in this chapter, so I hope it's not too boring. I'll update something more interesting soon. Thanks again for all the reveiws and favourites :)_

When Miriana woke in the morning, she felt refreshed, and even the knot of worry that had permanently settled in the pit of her stomach had eased a little. It was very light in the room, and when she glanced at the clock on the bedside table it read ten thirty. She sat up slowly and stretched; she rarely ever slept in that long.

She showered and dressed in a strappy black top underneath a red plaid shirt, as a glance out of the window told her the sun was shining, and black jeans, applied her customary smoky eyeliner, then gave herself a once over in the floor length mirror on the back of her bathroom door. The top she wore showed off the intricate pentagram tattoo on her shoulder that was designed to protect against possession, and the neckline just revealed the top of a shiny flat scar that ran across her heart. Although the day was warm, Miriana would never wear shorts: from the top of her left hipbone to halfway down her thigh were three long, ragged scars, evidence of her encounter with a daeva. She had been hunting the daeva in an old warehouse, when it had jumped out at her as she attempted to destroy the altar that was controlling it, knocked her to the ground and raked its' claws across her legs. She had been lucky; her aunt had managed to destroy the altar before the daeva had ripped open her chest, but her wounds had taken months to heal, and she was left with the ugly scars on her left hip and thigh. They didn't bother her anymore, and she rarely ever wore anything that was revealing enough to show them off, but it meant she wouldn't wear a bikini on those hot days by Lake Pleasant, despite Nate and her aunt trying to reassure her that you could barely see the scars.

Before she went downstairs for breakfast, she opened the wide wardrobe and rifled through the old books, pairs of shoes and discarded t-shirts and pulled out from under the debris a large cardboard box. She sat cross-legged on the floor and opened the box and lifted out a heavy, leather bound photograph album with a curling insignia etched onto the front.

The photograph album was one of her most prized possessions, and held all the photographs she had of her family. The first page showed a picture of her mother and father, and the family resemblance was striking. Miriana had her mothers' glossy black hair, pale skin and dark eyes, and her fathers' lean build and straight nose. They were both smiling widely on the picture and her mother was holding a chubby, dark haired toddler who was waving at the camera; the three year old Miriana. The next few pages showed stages of her childhood, the Miriana in the pictures gradually growing older and older. Once the pictures of Miriana showed her at about thirteen years old, the pictures of her alongside her parents stopped suddenly, as it was a few months after her thirteenth birthday (the picture of her thirteenth birthday party showed her parents stood over laughing as she struggled to blow out the candles on her cake) that her parents were killed by the coven of demons they had chosen to hunt. The next pages of the album contained pictures of the very house she was staying in, as she had moved from London to live with her aunt a month after their death. The young, eight year old Nate featured on most of the pages, either clinging to Miriana or looking up at her with wide, adoring eyes; they were remarkably alike for cousins, almost like brother and sister. He had used to be several inches shorter than her, but now he was several inches taller so he towered over her, and his dark black hair was longer and more jaggedly cut than it used to be, but aside from that he had barely changed. Neither had her aunt, although her hair was rather more streaked with grey than before and she had a few more lines on her face. There were pictures of the Winchesters too, and of Bobby. She flipped through the next few pages, Nate and Miriana at the lakeside, Miriana making her first sawn off shotgun, her 18th birthday, and then she flipped to a page that made her heart stutter a little in her chest.

It showed Miriana with a brightly coloured happy eighteenth banner around her shoulders and a wide smile, and there was a dark haired, hazel eyed young man with his arm slung across her shoulders. He was smiling widely too, his eyes dancing with light. Another picture on the same page showed the same young man on a gleaming Harley Davidson, which was now gathering dust in her aunts' garage, with Mirianas' arms wrapped around his broad chest. She ran her fingers across the picture, lingering over his handsome face.

Cristian had been the only person, aside from Seth before he had disappeared, who had ever befriended her when she was a teenager. He was her closest and often only friend throughout high school and college. He had shown her how to ride a motorbike and poked fun at her English accent, and she had helped him in his studies and laughed at his geeky obsession with Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Stars Wars. She had been afraid to tell him about her life as a hunter, terrified he would run a mile and leave her alone again. So it had been somewhat of a shock when she stumbled across him exorcising the very same demon she was hunting. He had lost his father to demons when he was a young boy, so his mother, a very strict and quite frightening woman, had trained him to be a hunter, much as John Winchester had raised his boys to be hunters. When they both left college, they became hunting partners, travelling together for almost five years, and they had grown close. Very close. Miriana had often romanticized about getting married and spending the rest of her life with him, but her naive dreams had been shattered when she was twenty four, two and a half years ago.

She had caught wind of the same coven of demons that had killed her parents all those years ago, and in her typical impulsiveness, driven by a desperate desire for revenge, she had gone rushing after them without Cristian. He had argued with her, begged her not to go, to stop and formulate a plan, but she hadn't listened. Needless to say, she only managed to exorcize two of the demons before she was pinned against the wall, tortured almost to the point of death. The so called leader of the coven, whose name she still had not learnt, tore up her insides with just a twist of his fingers, leaving her choking on her own blood. Cristian had found her, fought off the demons, but he couldn't fight the terrible powers of the lead demon. He ripped him apart in front of Miriana, who was still pinned against the wall, ignoring the pain and fighting desperately to help him, but she couldn't. She could still hear his screams and the mocking calls of the demons; still see him dying in front of her whilst she struggled helplessly.

She had blacked out a few minutes later, fully expecting and in some small way hoping she would die, because the pain was terrible and Cristian was dead and she was alone again. But she had woken a few months later in a hospital bed, with doctors crowding around her, exclaiming that it was a miracle she had survived after such an ordeal. Her aunt had told the paramedics that had arrived on the scene that a horde of thugs had attacked Miriana and Cristian, leaving Cristian dead and Miriana comatose. Her aunt must be a good liar for them to believe her, as many of the paramedics were shocked that human beings could inflict such terrible wounds. It had taken a full year for her to recover properly, a great deal of which was spent feverishly searching the internet in her aunts' study for any trace of the demons that had killed her family, and then so brutally, the man she had loved so deeply. Her way of dealing with his death was to block it out and focus on getting herself well again; otherwise she worried she would spend the rest of her life pining for him, trapped by her own grief and guilt. Miriana did not like huge changes in her life, and Cristians' death had wounded her more deeply that she would ever show. The scar that ran across her heart was a physical memory of where the demon had begun to rend open her chest.

The guilt still churned up her insides; after all, it was her stupid decision to go rushing after the demon that had killed him, all because she wouldn't listen. But as her aunt had said, 'it isn't healthy to dwell on the past.' So she worked at getting better, kept herself busy to forget everything that had happened, and threw herself back into hunting with a new ferocity. She was an even better hunter afterwards, more ruthless than before. She scared herself sometimes, often stopped and wondered whether Cristian would like this new attitude of hers. But she rarely ever thought about him anymore. It was the best thing to do.

There was a sudden knock at the door, and her aunt called,

"Miriana, honey?"

She ran a hand through her hair, snapped the heavy book shut with a snap and kicked it under the bed. She opened the bedroom door to reveal her aunt, her grey streaked hair pulled into a neat bun, wearing a long swirling teal skirt, leather flip flops and a white sleeveless cotton shirt. She held out a mug of black coffee.

"Black, no sugar. There's croissants, toast and that god awful cereal Nate likes down in the conservatory. I thought I heard you get up. Figured you'd need breakfast," her aunt scrutinized her face, "You okay, honey?"

"Yeah. I'm fine!"

Miriana took the mug with a smile and followed her aunt down to the glass conservatory that overlooked the Lake and the tree coated hills that lead down to it. Croissants, cereal, and coffee were laid out on the large oak table in the middle of the conservatory, with two plates laid out for Miriana and her aunt.

"Where's Nate?" Miriana asked as she sat down, noticing his empty seat.

"He's gone into town; he's meeting that Teresa-"

"Tiffany," Miriana corrected.

"-Yes that one. I don't know why he went so early to be honest. He probably be out all day, knowing him."

Her aunt poured herself some coffee, then asked,

"Did you have chance to look through that folder on the omens I've put together?"

Miriana sighed, "Only very briefly. I fell asleep before I got a proper look," she paused whilst she buttered her croissant, "You definitely think it's Liliths' demons?"

Eve leaned back in her chair and took a long draught of coffee.

"Most likely. I've encountered them before and I'm pretty sure the leader of the coven is one of her generals. All we've got to figure out now is why they're in town in the first place."

Eve put her mug down on the table and surveyed Miriana with her dark eyes.

"Anyway, never mind that for now. I want to know more about Deans' miraculous return from hell."

Miriana contemplated the contents of her mug for a few seconds, ordering her thoughts, then told her aunt everything that had happened since Dean had crawled out of his own grave; Seth's cryptic warning, Castiel, the sixty seals, the apocalypse, up to her disturbing encounter with Sams' dark powers. She knew her aunt would know about the sixty seals as soon as she mentioned them; her aunt was the most knowledgeable person she knew, perhaps even more knowledgeable than Bobby.

Eve listened to the whole story with an impassive face, then when Miriana had finished, she surprisingly broke into a grin and said,

"I want to know more about this angel!"

Miriana regarded her aunt with an incredulous expression.

"Aren't you a little more concerned about Sam? Or the whole, you know, apocalypse thing?"

Eve waved her hand airily, "Well yes of course, we can talk about that later, it's very worrying. But come on, spill!"

"Spill what, exactly?"

"Well, you just had that certain look on your face when you spoke about him."

Miriana could feel her cheeks reddening, "I did not have a look," she mumbled.

Her aunt laughed, "Look at you, blushing! Getting all defensive! So, what's he like?"

"He's...he's interesting," she picked at her croissant in order to avoid looking at her aunts' knowing smile.

"Interesting, how?" her aunt asked.

"Well, I don't know, I've only met him properly twice. He's quite...err...captivating." her cheeks were burning like they were on fire now, and she was sure they would match the colour of the raspberry jam on the table in front of her.

"Hmmm."

Miriana looked up from her plate, "What?"

"Well," her aunt said thoughtfully, "It seems like somebody is a bit attracted to a certain someone."

"I...I am not...I don't," she sputtered, "I am not attracted to an angel, alright? Anyway, that has to be a sin right?"

"No, it's not," her aunt said mildly.

"Yes well," Miriana said, feeling very flustered by the conversation, "It is for him I think. He's absolutely devoid of any emotion whatsoever. It's like talking to a statue."

"Why is he like that?" her aunt asked.

"I don't bloody know! I've never asked him. Every time he appears we're always too busy discussing signs of the end of the world."

This seemed to sober her aunt up, as the smile dropped from her face immediately.

"I knew something big was happening," her aunt said quietly, gazing pensively into the depths of her coffee, "the omens were everywhere. But I never thought...the sixty six seals...and Sam as well...." she tailed off into silence, swirling the contents of the mug around.

"That's why the angels are here. To stop Lucifer. That's what Castiel told me the last time I saw him."

Her aunt broke into a wide grin and Miriana rolled her eyes and sighed loudly.

"Oh for God's sake, what? You can't be serious for five minutes!"

"It's just nice to see you getting so flustered about someone. I haven't seen you like that since Cristian-"

Her aunt stopped dead, watching Miriana's face as if waiting for her to explode or burst into tears, but Miriana merely smiled sadly.

"You can talk about him, you know. I'm not going to dissolve into ash every time someone mentions his name. I'm not that fragile."

"I know but it's just...it was so hard for you," her aunt said softly, "I hate reminding you of that."

"You told me that it isn't healthy to dwell on the past. So I'm not. And anyway," Miriana said brusquely, trying to gloss over the situation, "I do not get flustered about him"

"Him?" came a voice from the doorway; Nate was back. He loped back into the room and threw himself down into the chair beside Miriana and threw an arm around her shoulders.

"Has Miriana got a boyfriend?"

"No I haven't, get off me!" she snapped, pushing Nate's arm of her shoulder and dodging away from his attempt to ruffle her hair.

"Ah look she's blushing!" Nate laughed, pinching her cheeks. She slapped his hand away, muttering, "God you're so bloody annoying!"

"Leave her alone Nate," barked Eve, shooting Nate her strictest glare, "What are you doing back so early?"

He slumped back in his chair and sighed, running a hand through his ruffled dark hair,

"Ah she didn't turn up. Doesn't know what she's missing."

"I do," Miriana interjected, "A bloody pain in the arse."

"Whatever. Anyway, there's something you guys should see."

He pulled a newspaper from the bag slung over his shoulder and dropped it on the table.

"Page seven," he said, gesturing to the newspaper.

Miriana unfolded it and rifled to page seven, across the top of which were the words 'Horrifying murder in town' with a picture underneath of a house swarming with police and covered in detective paraphernalia.

"I happened two nights ago," Nate explained, "They found the woman with her heart and eyes missing. There was an inverted cross on the wall and she was found at the centre of some huge symbol sprayed onto the floor. Blood everywhere apparently."

"What kind of symbol?" Eve asked.

"I dunno. It doesn't say in the paper and the police wouldn't say anything."

Miriana glanced up at Nate, "You think its demons? Witches?"

"I went past the house. The whole place stank of sulphur. So, yeah, I'm thinking its demons. Aunty?"

Eve had suddenly stood up and dashed away from the table, her many spindly bracelets clanking together as she moved. She returned a few second later with a heavy, leather bound tome in her arms and a pair of silver framed glasses perched on the end of her nose.

"Felt like a bit of light reading, huh?" Nate asked, raising his eyebrows. Eve shot him a withering glance as she rifled through the thick pages.

"Aha!" she said suddenly tapping the page in front of her, "I knew I recognized that ritual before."

"Serial killers hand book?" Nate asked, a smirk on his face. Miriana elbowed him under the table.

Eve ran a finger down the page, "It's an ancient ritual, very precise. Three murders, carried out in under two weeks, and they are usually agents of God."

"Agents of God? Like what, holy ninjas?" Nate asked. Miriana rolled her eyes.

"No, it means someone connected to the church in some way," Miriana said, "Like a priest or even just a devoted parishioner."

"The heart has to be removed, as it is considered the moral compass of the human body in some old cultures, and the eyes are removed as some believed if left intact they would reveal the killer. But really the true meanings of why they are removed have been lost through the centuries."

"What happens to the organs?" Miriana questioned, pushing her croissant to one side. She had suddenly lost her appetite.

Her aunt turned over the page, "It doesn't say."

"Knowing the demons, they probably cook them and eat them," Nate mused.

"Oh shut up, Nate," Miriana grumbled.

"The really worrying part," Eve continued, "Is that this ritual is one of the sixty six seals."

Miriana felt her stomach drop to the floor and when she met her aunts' eyes she saw her own fear mirrored in them.

"The what?" Nate asked loudly.

"Signs of the apocalypse," replied Miriana quietly, "They open the seals that bind Lucifer in hell."

Nate leaned forwards in his chair and rested his arms on his table, "So, if another three of these murders is carried out, we're a little bit closer to the devil busting out of hell?"

Miriana and Eve nodded.

"Well," said Nate with a loud sigh, "I guess we'd better stop the murders then, huh?"


	17. Drain the Blood

_A/N: I forgot to add a disclaimer : I don't own supernatural or its characters._

_Thanks for reading everyone! I hope you're enjoying it! :)_

I still don't know why I have to wear this stupid monkey suit," Nate grumbled, fidgeting with the stiff cuffs of his shirt, "I look much better in jeans and a t-shirt."

"Stop moaning, will you?" Miriana exclaimed, "What kinds of FBI agents don't wear suits for work? We have to be convincing. If you want to be a hunter you have to learn to do these things Nate. You can't get information out of everyone just by using your charms."

She checked her hair and make-up in the wing mirror of her car and straightened her black skirt and jacket. She reached into the glove box and pulled out two fake FBI badges, one for her and one for Nate, which she then passed to him. He flipped it open.

"Wow this is spectacularly illegal, Miriana," he said, turning the fake badge over in his hands, "Where did you get these?"

"From a friend of a friend," Miriana replied. At his sceptical look, Miriana said, "Look, ask no questions and I'll tell you no lies. Now hurry up. And act natural."

Nate adjusted his black tie and smoothed his white shirt, "I can totally be an FBI agent."

Miriana and Nate walked together across the parking lot of the police station, Miriana concentrating more than usual on walking smoothly; she wasn't used to wearing such high heels. Nate continued to fiddle with his suit.

Miriana elbowed him, "Stop it."

"You're a nightmare," Nate muttered under his breath. Miriana shot him a furious glare, which she quickly changed into a pleasant smile they walked into the reception of the police station.

"Hello, my name is Miss Cristina Tyler and this is Mr Jack Greene, we're with the FBI. We're here to talk to the police officer who dealt with the murder of Mrs Monica Newell two nights ago."

"Can I see some ID?" the neatly manicured woman behind the desk asked. Miriana and Nate held out their badges, and then replaced them in their pockets once the woman behind the desk nodded curtly.

"Do you have an appointment?"

"I'm afraid not. Is that a problem?"

"No, you'll just have to wait a little while. Take a seat," she gestured to the padded seats against the walls. Miriana and Nate sat down.

"This is awesome, I knew I could fake being a FBI agent!"

"Shut up will you?! Do you want to get arrested?!" Miriana hissed. Nate slouched down in his seat, with a broad grin plastered across his face, flipping the badge from hand to hand.

Another ten minutes passed before a tall, dark haired man appeared at the side of the desk.

"Agents Tyler and Greene?" he asked.

Miriana and Nate stood up and shook his hand.

"I'm officer Nicholls. You're here about the Newell murder?" Miriana nodded.

"We'll talk in my office if you'll follow me, agents," he said, setting off down the corridor towards a door at the end of the hall. He opened it to reveal a small office with filing cabinets stacked up to the ceiling and an old computer whirring and humming on the desk. He heaved a huge pile of folders of one of the chairs against the desk and dumped it on his desk, then gestured for Miriana and Nate to sit down, Nate narrowly avoiding kicking another huge pile of folders over. Officer Nicholls gave them a sheepish grin.

"Sorry about the mess, officers, I'm just about to change offices, so we're a bit disorganized at the moment."

He banged his fist against the clanking computer, then leaned back in his chair and surveyed them both.

"So, what do you want to know about the Newell case? I've already gone through everything with the feds."

"We're just fact checking, sir," Miriana replied, "its standard procedure. We were wondering if we could take a look through the case file."

"I'm not sure," he said, "we're still working through the case, I don't think we can really give to you at the moment."

Miriana quickly thought up an excuse that would convince him to give them the files, "Of course I appreciate that sir, but we have reason to believe this could be a cult, and that they may strike again within the week. It's very important we know everything we possibly can."

_It's not a complete lie, _Miriana thought to herself, _I just haven't included the whole demons and the end of world._

Officer Nicholls leaned forward in his chair, "I knew it, I knew it had to be some sort of cult or something. That's what the last agents we had here were hinting at."

"Yeah, so we're gonna need those files quick sharpish, Sherlock," Nate chipped in. Miriana stomped on his foot under the desk.

The officer fixed Nate with a steely glare, "You're awfully young to be a fed aren't you sonny?"

Before Nate could open his mouth to retaliate, Miriana hastily interjected,

"He's an intern. I'm training him. To be honest, he's a bloody nightmare."

The officer nodded wisely, "Tell me about it."

Miriana ignored the furious glare that Nate was shooting her and continued,

"So, those files. We really need them, Officer Nicholls."

Before the officer could reply, the police radio on the desk next to the computer gave a sudden crackle and a mumble of voices began to emanate from the speakers. Officer Nicholls listened to the jumble of voices, which Miriana could make no sense of, then stood up suddenly, fumbling to put a gun in his holster.

"There's been another one," the officer explained at the confused looks on their faces, "Someone's just found the body."

Miriana and Nate both stood up, "We'll follow in our car," Nate said.

Officer Nicholls looked torn, "I'm not sure I should..." he began.

Nate stepped forwards, "I'm afraid you don't have a choice. We're coming."

***

A few minutes later, Miriana pulled the car to a halt outside a large house surrounded by yellow tape and swarming with police officers and forensic scientists in white suits, flitting in and out of the house. Miriana and Nate were still arguing about Nate's aggressive attitude towards the police officer.

"You didn't have to threaten him, Nate. Diplomacy works far better," Miriana snapped as she clambered out of the car, snagging her skirt on the door.

"Yeah, but violence gets results quicker," Nate snapped back, slamming the door with unnecessary force.

"I knew I should have come on my own," she muttered, "Subtlety is not your strong point."

She schooled her features into a more professional look, then flashed her fake badge at the border of yellow tape and ducked underneath. She followed a man in a white suit through the front door, down a hallway, and into a large room overlooking the garden. When she saw what was inside the room, Miriana was grateful she had a strong stomach.

The wall facing the door had once been white, but now it was splattered with streaks of crimson from floor to ceiling. The figure that slumped on the floor was barely in one piece; his chest had been torn open, the white bones of his ribcage gleaming dully in the light from the windows at the end of the room and a pool of dark blood had seeped into the light beige carpet around the body. The place where the eyes had been was just two dark gaping holes, rivulets of blood running down the man's cheeks and mingling with the rest of the blood on the carpet. Several figures in white suits were standing around the body, taking photographs of the body from various different angles or flashing an ultraviolet light across the scene. A few police were stood at the glass doors leading to the garden, muttering and shooting nervous glances at the corpse lying in the middle of the room. Miriana glanced at Nate, whose skin had developed a faintly green tinge and who was staring at the body, transfixed. She patted his shoulder. The first few times you saw the victims of the things you hunted always left you feeling messed up. In truth, you never really got used to it; you simply stopped thinking about it.

Nate nudged Miriana and pointed to a wide symbol splashed across the carpet in thick black paint. It was a widely curling, intricate pattern that was somehow upsetting to the eye; Miriana found that it gave her a headache if she looked at it for too long.

"You recognize it?" Nate whispered in her ear.

Miriana shook her head, "No, I've never seen it before."

Officer Nicholls walked away from the body and turned to Nate and Miriana, "Not pretty, is it?" he said, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck, "You're looking a little green, sonny."

Miriana glanced at Nate, who was looking considerably pale and shaken. Miriana grabbed the top of his arm and dragged him from the room, calling over her shoulder to Officer Nicholls,

"I'm just going to take him for some air!" she said, whilst Nate stumbled over his own unresponsive feet.

"I'll leave my number in the hall," she shouted, "Call me if anything comes up!" She managed to get him outside and across the road to her car, where she threw open the door and sat him down forcefully on the passenger seat. He gave out a long groan and rested his head in his hands. Miriana patted his back,

"It gets easier," she said quietly.

"That was awful," Nate replied in a small voice. Miriana had nothing else to say to that; she couldn't think of another way to comfort. She's seen so much death in her life; she'd grown numb to its horror.

Miriana had the sudden overwhelming feeling that she was being watched, she glanced behind her, and saw a familiar figure stood by the gates that led into the park.

"Nate, you just...just sit here for a while, and I'll...uh, be back in a bit, okay?"

"Whatever," he mumbled, clutching at his stomach. Miriana left the sickly looking Nate curled up in the car, and walked as slowly and calmly as she could across the grass, then stopped a foot away from him, feeling awkward, like she always did whenever he was around. She shuffled from one foot to the other, while he regarded her with his dark blue eyes.

"So," she began, "I have a feeling I know why you're here. It's because of the seal, right?"

"You already know," he said quietly.

"Yeah, my aunt figured it out," she said, folding her arms across her chest to hide the slight trembling of her fingers. It was absolutely ridiculous that he should have that effect over her just by his mere presence.

"Have you located the demon behind the murders?" he asked his voice as neutral as ever.

Miriana sighed and looked down at the floor, "No. I only just found about the murders this morning. But I'm supposing you want me to find it as quickly as possible before it puts us one step closer to Armageddon."

"Yes...but...they know you're here."

Miriana rolled her eyes, "Oh, bloody perfect. That's going to make it easier to take them out. Anyway, whilst we're on the subject, why do I have to do this? Can't you and your feathered friends up there just smite them, or something?"

"These demons are very powerful; they've cloaked themselves from us." Miriana rolled her eyes.

"Bloody useful, you are! Now _I_ have to go and risk my life," she grumbled.

"I wish you didn't have to," he said suddenly, and the change in his voice made her look at up at his face in surprise, "It's dangerous."

His voice was suddenly soft and the coldness in his blue eyes faded.

"I've dealt with dangerous before," she breathed, not trusting herself to speak any louder in case her voice cracked. _This is embarrassing,_ she thought, her heart still hammering far too fast against her chest.

"I know," he sighed, sounding oddly frustrated. His eyes flickered away from her face and over to where her car was parked on the pavement.

"Is he alright?" he asked, inclining his head in Nate's direction. Miriana glanced behind her; Nate still had his head in his hands, staring down at the pavement.

"He'll be alright in a bit," she replied, "its not easy seeing the victims of the things you hunt," then she added quietly under her breath, "Never gets easier."

She thought he might have heard her remark, as he turned his piercing gaze away from Nate and back to her with a curious expression on his face.

"Well...I think I should get going. You know, got demons to kill, and everything," she said with false brightness.

She was about to turn away, before something caught her wrist; she turned and found that he was right in front of her, so close she had to tilt her head back to look him in the face.

"Be careful," he said quietly, "don't do anything too...reckless."

"Okay," she said automatically, very aware he still had his hand wrapped loosely around her wrist. He looked down, and as if he suddenly realized what he was doing, he pulled his hand away. She felt a light breeze on her face, and when she looked up, he was gone. She blinked a few times, took a deep breath, and walked back over to the car, where Nate was now sat up in the seat, looking slightly less green than before.

"Feeling better?" she asked, hoping the shake would keep out of her voice.

"Yeah, bit" Nate grunted, running a hand over his face. He glanced up at her, "What's up with you? You look a bit flustered."

She slid into the driver's seat and started the car, briefly checking her reflection in the rear mirror. There were hectic spots of pink across her cheekbones that stood out clearly against her pale skin.

"Nothing," she muttered, "We need to get back and try to figure out where these demons are."

"Sounds like a plan," Nate said, stretching his long legs, "Just as long as I don't see any more chewed up corpses, Okay?"

"Let's hope," Miriana said, driving the car away from the pavement.


	18. Blackout

Once back at her aunts' house, Miriana changed into jeans and t-shirt, then wasted no time in setting up the ritual that was required to track demons in the large study that overlooked the lake. It was filled floor to ceiling on every wall with bookcases filled with books, and several cabinets filled with all kinds of arcane objects. She carefully placed a heavy iron tripod on the centre of the table above a map of Maine, set the crystal pointer in the middle and twisted the top so that it began to swing back and forth slowly. She murmured the words of Latin under her breath, and the pointer began to swing around in circles faster and faster; but instead of landing heavily on a point on the map, the pointer in the centre of the tripod swung erratically from side to side, then came loose from the rest of the metal and rolled across the table, then thumped heavily into the wooden floor.

"Bloody hell," Miriana snapped, kneeling down beside the table to retrieve the heavy rod of metal and replace it in the middle of the tripod.

"Castiel wasn't lying when he said they were cloaking themselves, then," her aunt said, sweeping into the room with her metallic bracelets clinking against each other. She carefully placed a mug of strong black coffee on the table and leaned against the oak table on which Miriana had set up the demon tracking paraphernalia.

"I guess I'll just have to go back into town and try and find some leads there," Miriana sighed. "And just hope I get there in time."

"You will," he said in a reassuring voice, "You can stop this, honey, I know you can."

She tossed her long grey streaked hair over her shoulder, "How exactly do you plan on dealing with these demons? There's bound to be plenty of them and if they know you're here..." she tailed off.

Miriana rubbed her temples, feeling the beginnings of yet another migraine, "I'm think I'll use the Paolo Santo to pin them down and those consecrated rod iron bullets you came up with. I mean, it won't kill them, but it'll take them out of the running long enough for me to do a mass exorcism."

"You're sure that'll work?" her aunt asked, her forehead creasing into worried lines.

"No, but what choice do I have? I mean, we don't have another of Rubys' magic knives or the colt...It's the only way to do it."

"On the subject of the knife, it seems we might be able to get our hands on one," her aunt said, swirling the contents of her mug around.

"Where?" Miriana asked enthusiastically. The prospect of being to own a knife like the one Sam and Dean had effectively stolen of Ruby would massively increase her chances of surviving when going up against a horde of demons. As far as she knew, Ruby's was the only one of its kind, but then again, she had never done any research into the possibility of another knife existing.

"Well for the past couple of months I've been trying to find the Colt ever since that heinous bitch Bella ran off with it, and I came across the list for your fathers' lockup in Boston, and there was this."

She swept over to the bookcase and pulled a large ring binder folder down from the third shelf and flipped it open. She passed a printed picture to Miriana.

"Looks familiar, doesn't it?" she questioned, as Miriana scrutinized the picture. It was a small, cruel looking knife with a wooden handle and a serrated edge, etched with pentagrams and curling symbols down the metal blade. It was differently shaped than the other one, and slightly shorter, but there was denying that it looked remarkably similar. A spark of excitement flared up in her chest.

"I remember you father talking about this knife just before he died. He thought that it was more than just a knife, but he never figured out why. It's strange really, but if he had worked it out earlier, it could have saved him and your mothers' lives."

Miriana swallowed around the sudden lump that rose up in her throat, "I guess," was all she managed to choke out.

She handed the picture back to her aunt, who carefully replaced it back in the file.

"Do you know where the knife is now?" she asked; her aunt sighed.

"It's probably in your fathers' lockup still, but there's so much crap in there, it could be difficult to find. Plus there have been a few break-ins over the years; I mean, you father put in security measures of course, but you never know what might have been taken. I think I'll go up in a few weeks and dig around. It would make me sleep better if I knew you had that to help you."

Miriana knew how much her aunt worried about her, but she too had inherited her worrying streak; whenever she was away from Nate and Eve, a pit of anxiety always settled in her stomach. Hunting was not a safe lifestyle, and they were the only family she had left. She couldn't bear to think what would happen if they were killed; she would be left completely alone. As much as she loved Sam and Dean and as much as they cared for her, she couldn't expect them to act as he adopted family, not when they had so many problems in their lives, what with Sams' demon blood and Deans' trip to hell.

Suddenly, Mirianas' mobile rang, its shrill ringtone cutting sharply through the quietness of the house. She flipped open the phone and answered the unfamiliar number.

"Hello?"

"Miss Tyler?" came Officer Nicholls voice from the other end of the phone line.

"Yes?"

"I need you to come down to the office immediately. We have a new lead on the murderer. Can you get to the station now?"

"Yes, of course I'll be there straight away."

She flipped her mobile shut and slid the phone into her pocket. Officer Nicholls has got a lead on the case. He wants me down at the station now."

She dashed into the hall and pulled her leather jacket of the coat rack in the hall, throwing it on haphazardly.

"Don't go alone," her aunt implored, following her into the hall, "It could be dangerous."

She grabbed her car keys of the table by the door and stepped outside, but her aunts' hand on her arm stopped her.

"Take Nate," she said beseechingly, "Have back-up, just in case."

"I'm not dragging Nate out again, okay? I can handle this. He just wants me to come down to the station, that's all. It could give us a lead to the demons, and we need to get rid of them as soon as possible."

Her aunt dithered in the hall for a few seconds, looking worried. Miriana took another step outside.

"Look, at least...take this," she handed her a gun from a cupboard mounted to the wall and passed it to her. Miriana ejected the magazine and checked the bullets. They had a silvery sheen to them and were inscribed with tiny pentagrams.

"Consecrated rod iron," Miriana stated, glancing up at her aunt.

"It'll reassure me," she said, her hazel eyes wide and imploring.

"Alright," Miriana said softly, slipping the gun into the inside pocket of her jacket.

"Just in case," her aunt added quietly, as Mirianas' Mercedes pulled away from the house with a violent crunch of gravel.

***

It took Miriana fifteen minutes to reach the police station in the centre of the town, and when she climbed out of the car and swept across the road, she saw Officer Nicholls waiting in the foyer of the station.

"You've got a lead?" Miriana asked brusquely by way of greeting, following Officer Nicholls as he began to stride down the hall.

"In my office," he said, "There's files on my desk," gesturing with hand for Miriana to go inside.

Miriana felt a sudden burst of unease when she entered the room, her hunters' intuition flickering. Something felt wrong.

"So what's the lead?" Miriana asked, desperately trying to quell the twist of worry she felt in her gut. She turned to face Officer Nicholls, who was watching with an odd expression across his face.

"There isn't one," he said calmly; something had changed in his voice, a frightening coldness. Her sense of dread increased tenfold.

"What the hell do you mean?" she snapped. She was suddenly thankful for the comforting weight of the gun in her jacket.

"I mean," he glanced up at her from the floor, and Miriana saw with a jolt of horror that his eyes were a solid, dead black, "You really shouldn't have come here, Miriana."

She grabbed the butt of the gun and drew it from her pocket, but before she could raise it to shoot, something cracked across the back of her head; there was a sharp vicious pain, and the world around her fell away into darkness.


	19. Spoilin' for a fight

_Hi guys, hope you like this next chapter! Thanks so much for all the favourites and reviews, I hope you're all enjoying it! :)_

Awareness came back slowly to Miriana. The first thing she felt was a dull ache of pain between her shoulders and a throbbing in her arms, which felt oddly twisted. It took her muddled brain a few long seconds to realize that her arms were tied above her head; she could feel the hard bite of the bonds around her wrists. The chair she was sat on was hard and cold, and when she tried to move her legs, she found that they were bound together. She was slumped uncomfortably in the chair so that the muscles in her back were burning, twisted as awkwardly as they were. With a sudden shocking pain, she felt the crack across the head whichever demon had stood behind her had inflicted upon her. She could feel cold sticky blood congealing just above her left ear, soaking through her hair, and a single drop crawling down the side of her neck. She heard a door slam somewhere above her and she raised her head in response, opening her eyes blearily and wincing at the soreness, despite the lack of light in the room.

It seemed like she was in a basement, as she could see the pavement of a typical suburban road, neatly manicured grass on either side. But it was not the basement of an ordinary house; at the opposite end of the room to where she was bound was a long trestle table designed as a makeshift altar, littered with occult objects. From her position, she could see a yellowed skull gazing out at the room through empty eye sockets, a smoky silver chalice and a several long black candles that cast their uneasy, flickering light over the walls and floor, creating jagged shadows. She could hear harsh voices upstairs, in no doubt that there was a coven of demons up there, and that they were about to make her the final murder to complete the ritual of breaking a seal. She couldn't feel the reassuring weight of the gun in her jacket and without it she felt highly vulnerable.

With nothing else to do, she yanked at the knots around her wrist a few times to see if they would come loose, but they were tied incredibly tight, so tight they were rubbing the skin of her wrists raw. The more she struggled, the stronger the pain in her head became, until the dark basement began spin around her and she could feel the pounding of the blood in her head. She gave up, slumping back against the wall, utterly exhausted and aching more than ever. It seemed that with more awareness came more pain. She cast her eyes frantically around the room, but she could see no possible way of escape; it seemed she was done for.

Footsteps thundered heavily across the floor, and then she heard them coming down the steps into the basement and she tensed her body, preparing herself for what might loom out of the darkness. She straightened her aching back and lifted her chin, taking a deep breath of the cold musty air in the basement.

A tall, dark haired man suddenly materialized out the thick shadows by the door. His face was handsome, all high cheekbones and carved features, but there was a cold gleam in his glacial eyes that betrayed what was lurking inside; pure evil.

"Miriana," he purred in a deep voice, "such a pleasure to have you here."

"So charming," Miriana spat, as he pulled a chair across the floor towards her with a scraping sound that jarred against her ears, sending shockwaves of pain through her aching head. He spun the chair around smoothly and slouched in it, regarding her with lazy strokes of his eyes.

"Let me guess," Miriana said, lacing her voice with as much venom as possible, "You're going to make me the final sacrifice. I suppose that's your idea of irony?"

The demon smirked, revealing the perfectly white, even teeth of the host he was possessing, but it wasn't a pleasant smile, it was full of malice and hate.

"Damn straight, doll face," he said, still smirking, "Funny really."

"What is?" Miriana asked, watching him as he got to his feet, stretching his toned muscles like a lion before it struck its prey to the ground.

"Well a hunter who fights evil every day of her life is going to help the very things she hunts get that little bit closer to the revolution. Lucifer, that is."

"I'm not the only hunter here, you know. There's people that are going to be looking for me," Miriana said, more to convince herself than the demon, trying to cover the shake in her voice.

"You don't sound too convinced," he said quietly, turning his back to her and rifling through the contents on the altar on the opposite side of the basement. She heard the ominous scrape of metal on metal and saw a brief flare of cold silver fire; the gleam of a long, vicious blade. He turned back towards her, turning the knife over and over between his long hands. His host had long, slender fingers; the hands of an artist, not a killer. She wondered why the demon had chosen such an attractive young man; but then it was the perfect mask for pure evil to hide behind.

"They'll find me," she snapped, "Believe me."

He smiled again, "Oh they'll find you sweetheart. But I don't think they'll like the state you'll be in."

He took the knife he was holding and drew it across his arm, so dark blood, black in the half light, spilled up over the deep cut and ran down his arm in long black rivulets. He dipped his fingers into the blood, then crossed the room in two blindingly swift strides and drew something on the wall above her head, too high up for her to see. She could smell the harsh metallic scent of the blood, almost taste its bitterness on her tongue. He stepped back from the wall, winked at her then swept back across the room and replaced the now bloodstained knife on the altar. He sprinkled a handful of coarse black powder over a squat candle that was weeping black wax; the flame flared violently, so everything in the room was lit in a harsh orange light for a few brief seconds. He began muttering Latin, an odd collection of words that somehow seemed to clash against each other. Her head was starting to clear a little more and while he had his back turned to her, she struggled with the knots, contorting her wrists as much as possible, the rough rope rubbing them painfully raw, until they began to burn. It didn't look like she was going to get out of this.

He turned back to face her again holding a different knife this time, an even more wicked looking blade than the other, a short, wickedly serrated blade that reminded her vividly of the sharp, erratic edges of sharks teeth. He smiled again, but it was just a rictus grin, a cold predatory smile that set an icy curl of dread twisting in her gut. He threw himself down into the chair again, and Miriana had the horrible feeling that he was going to prolong this as much as possible. If it was an inevitability that she was going to die, she just wanted it to be quick. He leaned forwards, his cold eyes roving down her body; she could feel them on her like a physical weight, like cold slimy hands against her skin. She shivered. He took the tip of the knife and traced the line of the purple hollows under her eyes and down her cheekbones, the cold knife leaving a stinging trail wherever it touched.

"You're even more beautiful than I remember," he murmured, that cold edge still in his voice.

Miriana frowned, "Than you remember? What the hell does that mean?"

He laughed, and the sound of it sent shivers crawling up her spine. He trailed the knife down her slender throat, pressing the cold metal against where her blood thundered through her jugular.

"You mean you don't remember me?" he asked with mock annoyance, "Am I that forgettable?"

She said nothing, fighting to keep hot tears of frustration over flowing.

The knife traced an icy line from her throat to the neck of her shirt, where he pressed the blade against her fragile skin hard enough to puncture it, so hot trails of blood snaked their way down her chest and soaked into the fabric of her shirt.

"I'm the big bad demon that wasted mommy and daddy and your charming Cristian," he said matter of factly, still tracing burning patterns on the skin over her pounding heart.

She felt icy realization settle in the pit of her stomach like shards of ice, accompanied by a twist of fear. He smiled another predatory grin, then said in a dangerous whisper,

"And now I'm gonna finish off what I started. By plucking your heart out of your chest," he dug the knife in hard enough that she cried out in pain as the savage blade tore into the delicate skin on her chest. She felt the red hot blood trace another fiery trail and soak into her bra, staining the fabric a violent red. She watched the liquid black of his irises bleed out across the rest of his eyes as he pulled the knife back and held the blade in front of his eyes, as if transfixed by the sight of her rich, crimson blood dripping from the serrated edge, and realized there was absolutely no chance of her escaping this; she was going to die. Slow and painful, most likely.

Suddenly there came a loud, splintering crash from upstairs and the demon leapt back, cursing. There was silence from upstairs now, and the lack of noise was almost painful, pressing against Mirianas' eardrums almost painfully.

"Seems like someone's come to crash the party!"

Everything happened very fast then, two figures burst out of the darkness by the door and an arc of clear liquid flew through the air; it hit the demon in the side of the face with a sound like fat hitting a boiling pan, and he recoiled, roaring in agony. A sharp crack of gunfire sliced through the air, and Miriana saw the burst of bright crimson as the bullet collided with the demon's chest and drove him to the floor.

Her muddled brain was having difficulty processing what was happening, and she was surprised when she felt soft fingers undoing the painfully tight bonds around her wrists and ankles, the blood rushing back into her fingers. The gun was still going off and the demon was still slumped on the floor, his blood streaming across the floor. She felt warm arms around her shoulders, supporting her, and she caught a faint trace of lavender and freesia.

"Aunt?" she asked groggily.

"I'm here sweetie," she said consolingly, "We're going to get you out of here, okay?"

She felt the burning ropes slides away, exposing her raw skin to the stinging air, and then her aunt slid an arm around her waist and helped her to her feet. She leaned heavily against her, feeling impossibly weak and lethargic, every muscle in her body screaming in protest. She glanced across at Nate, who had a streak of crimson blood underneath his nose, but who had finally succeeded in pinning the demon to the floor with long, savage stakes of Paolo Santo. With a sudden, roaring intensity, the demon opened his mouth and a huge cloud of black smoke, dark and heavy as storm clouds, shot through the tiny window at street level. The man he had possessed slumped back against the floor, bleeding profusely from the stakes through his wrists, his handsome face bruised. Nate pressed his fingertips to the man's throat, but Miriana didn't need to see him shake his head to know that he was dead. Nate wrenched the stakes out of the man's wrists, gathered them into a bunch and wiped their bloody tip against his weathered jeans, grimacing at the dark stains it left behind. He rushed over to Miriana and slung her arm, which felt impossibly heavy, over his shoulder and helped Eve to drag her up the stairs and into the large lounge above the basement. The front door was wide open, blowing a cool, refreshing breeze across Miriana's face, drying the sticky sweat that covered her face in a light sheen. The three of them limped towards the door, Miriana feeling as if she was about to plummet into unconsciousness, teetering on the edge.

"Just hold on a bit longer, sweetheart," her aunt murmured in her ear. She couldn't understand why she felt so terrible; she had faced far worse injuries without coming even close to passing out. Some clinical part of her brain suspected that she may be going into shock after meeting the thing that was responsible for the destruction of the people she had loved so much.

With a sound like gunfire, the door slammed shut just as they reached it; they whirled around to see a tall man stood by the back door of the house, his eyes a flat liquid black.

"What, you didn't think I'd just let you go, did you?" he asked, walking forward into the light being cast from the streetlamps outside the house. Miriana saw the dull gleam knife as he stepped even closer. With a flick of his hand, both Nate and Eve were thrown against the wall, and without their support Miriana's knees gave out, crashing into the wooden floor. He took another step towards her, then reached out and grabbed a fistful of her shirt with his hands, dragging her roughly towards him.

"You have no idea how long I've waited to get my hands on you," he hissed, "I mean, you slipped away the first time."

He pulled his fist back and punched her hard across the mouth; she heard her aunt cry out, and felt the coppery taste of blood blossom in her mouth.

"And now," he said, his voice rising in volume so Nate and Eve could hear him, "I have all of the Westchild legacy, right here. Three for the price of one!"

He punched her again, but this time in the stomach, and the force of it crashing into her ribs made her feel sick.

"Now I think that's a good bargain, don't you?"

"Piss off!" Miriana spat.

"Now, now," he growled, heaving her to her feet by the front of her shirt, "Manners!"

He threw her clear across the room, and she crashed into the glass dining table at the back of the room, breaking it clean in half, landing in a mess of sharp splinters and shards of glass that ripped straight through her shirt and jeans and tore at the skin underneath. She coughed, spitting out a mouthful of blood, feeling hot blood soaking through her clothes, her shirt tattered. She could feel the cracks in her ribs, struggling to breathe around the pain, her chest tight and aching. She shifted, desperately trying to sit up as the demons footsteps thundered across the floor towards her, but all she managed to do was tear more lacerations into the skin on her back. He stood over her, and he seemed to blot out all the light in the room. She felt helpless, paralyzed.

"Too easy," he said mockingly, "To wipe out your family. Like stamping on cockroaches."

For the second time that night, she knew she was about to die, but before he could deliver the killing blow, something collided into the demon from the side so that he slammed hard into the wall. She ignored the crippling pain in her ribs and managed to sit up, searching for her saviour. She caught a flash of tan trench coat and dark hair, and she nearly cried with relief. _Castiel, oh thank god!_

Castiel and the demon were locked in a ferocious fistfight, with neither making any headway; she wished she could help, but all she could do was choke over each burning breath she pulled into her lungs. There was a sudden loud, splintering crash, and Miriana saw the demon fly backwards and crash into the large sofa in the middle of the room. Before he could struggle to his feet, Castiel turned, a strange expression fleeting across his face when he saw her lying in the bloody mess of crushed glass.

"Close your eyes," he commanded.

Across the room, the demon had just staggered to his feet and stumbled towards Castiel, who closed his eyes as if in concentration. Miriana shut her eyes obediently, just milliseconds before she felt a wave of white hot light crash over her, so bright she could see the fine tracery of capillaries across her eyelids and she had to screw her eyes tight shut. She felt a powerful wave of something wash over her, raising the hairs on her arms and neck and sending her veins fizzing. It lasted for a few seconds longer, and then suddenly the room was plunged into moonlight darkness. She kept her eyes glued shut despite the fact the light had obviously faded. She didn't open them until she felt someone tugging on her arm, and she cracked one eyelid open, then opened them properly when she saw it was safe to open them without being blinded. She could still feel his power in the room, lingering in the corners.

"Miriana, Miriana oh my god, are you okay?" she recognized Nate's voice in her ear, and she turned to face him. His nose was still bloody, and he had a deep, savage looking cut across his cheek that was weeping dark blood down his face.

Miriana shifted in the pile of glass and winced when she felt a horrific pain lance through her chest like a lightning bolt. She searched the darkened room frantically.

"Where's Castiel?" she coughed, grabbing her ribs.

"Who?" Nate sounded bewildered.

"The angel, the guy who was just here."

"That was an angel?"

"Yeah, where is he?" she asked again.

"I dunno, but never mind that now, are you okay?"

"I think...I think I've cracked some ribs," she gasped, feeling down her chest until she felt another sharp pain at the bottom on her ribcage, "Yep, definitely."

Her aunt suddenly appeared at her side, her long, silver streaked hair in disarray and a large, purple bruise blossoming on her forehead. She and Nate slipped their arms around Miriana's waist and heaved her to her feet, wincing when she cried out in pain.

"Where's the demon?" Miriana choked, spitting up a mouthful of coppery blood onto the floor.

"He's gone, I don't know what happened," her aunt replied and she shouldered the front door of the house aside, "One minute he was there, and the next that light came and he was gone."

"That was Castiel," Miriana rasped, hissing in pain as Nate and her aunt lowered her into the back seat of their Volvo.

"Hmmm," Nate mumbled as he climbed into the passenger seat, and Eve started up the car.

"What?" Miriana asked, still holding her aching ribs gingerly.

"I always thought angels were supposed to have wings."


	20. Thinking of You

_This one's a bit boring, but it'll pick up soon. hope everyone's enjoying it, and thanks to everyone who's left comments and favourites! :)_

Miriana woke the next day, her ribs securely taped and her cuts and bruises tended to by the kind nurse in the ER who had completely believed the story that Eve fed them of the three of them having a minor car accident. She hadn't even asked any difficult questions about how Miriana looked like she had gone several rounds with a lawnmower and that Eve and Nate only had the slightest scratches and bruises.

She sat up slowly and carefully, wincing as her ribs ached in protest and her head throbbed so hard the room swam around her. She felt thoroughly battered and bruised, but she'd had worse. Much worse. She slumped back against the pillows, snuggling back against the soft warmth. She pulled the latest fantasy novel her aunt had borrowed from the library off the bedside table, and began to read. She wasn't going anywhere in the state she was in today, so she might as well try and get lost in a good book. After a few minutes though, her mind began to wander, almost subconsciously, to one of its favourite topics. Castiel.

She owed him her life; she knew that last night there would have been no chance that that demon would have let her and what was left of her family go. Especially not after he had coldly murdered her parents and the love of her life. She wanted to thank him, and she was secretly hoping that he would flutter into the room to check up on her, as unlikely as that desperate hope might be. She was still running through possibilities of why he had saved her; she wasn't important to the war against the demons like Sam and Dean, so why had he swooped in like a knight in white armour and saved her life? Had he been anyone else, she might have thought it was simply because he cared about her, but she had seen enough of him to understand that emotionally, he was as cold as ice. At least, he seemed like he was. But every now and then, she saw the slightest flash of _something_ behind those deep blue eyes, something that might betray what he was feeling underneath. But those moments were few and far between, and so fast that if she blinked she missed them. She knew it was hopeless to obsess over him like she was; even if he wasn't so emotionally dead, she would never turn his head, she just wasn't interesting enough, or beautiful enough. She refused to get upset about that; she had already resigned herself to the fact that she was likely to spend most of her life alone. It came with the territory of being a hunter. Still, she could dream. Sometimes her dreams were the only things that kept her going.

She was still pondering how he had managed to fend off the demon; it made sense that, being an angel, he would have unearthly powers, but she had never experienced anything like the wave of light that had washed over her. It had felt like raw, undiluted power, and she tried to imagine staring that wave of light down, and the thought of it made her shiver with fear. She could still feel the remnants of it dancing along her skin and through her veins. She decided it was a very good idea to never piss him off.

She threw her book to one side, deciding to cast off reading as a bad idea. She couldn't concentrate with so many thoughts and worries in her head. She stretched gingerly, wincing as her ribs throbbed in protest, and carefully clambered out of bed and padded across the wooden floor to the window. She threw the curtains back and gazed out across the lake, a huge disc of burnished silver in the morning light, perfectly smooth and untroubled. The dark emerald evergreens around the lake were completely still; there was no breeze at all. She heard heavy rock music start up from Nate's room down the hall, and a few seconds later heard Eve yell up the stairs for him to turn it down, and it lessened considerably in volume. Nate had seemed oddly shocked at meeting an actual real life angel, as like Miriana, he was a self confessed atheist, always firmly refusing to believe in God or Heaven. He had also seemed completely bewildered that Castiel didn't have huge fluffy wings, despite Miriana trying to explain that the whole point of him taking a vessel was so that he could walk amongst man unnoticed, and that wings may just give him away a little. Her aunt hadn't seemed that shocked at all, but more like he had been exactly what she was expecting. She wondered what they'd make of him if they spoke to him like she had. She had a sudden mental image of Nate cracking an endless stream of jokes, his sense of humour completely lost on Castiel, and she giggled, instantly covering her mouth. _I spend far too much time alone, _she thought to herself.

Miriana yawned loudly, her head beginning to feel rather fuzzy, suspecting that the morphine the nurse had given her last night was begging to kick back in. She pulled the curtains back across the window, blocking the pale clear morning light from her room, and lowered herself back into bed. She leaned back against the pillows and closed her heavy eyes, instantly drifting off into sleep.

***

Castiel had been stood outside Miriana's aunts' house for over two hours now, just watching over her. He knew the demon that had beaten Miriana so savagely last night wasn't dead; he had merely managed to drive it away for long enough for Miriana and her family to escape. He was terrified he would return to finish what he had started last night, so as soon as he could get away from duties in heaven he had gone straight to Miriana's house, relieved to find all of them safe and well. He kept his eyes locked on the window to Miriana's room; he knew which one it was from months he had spent watching her before he had come to earth. There had been no movement at her window, but he reckoned that she would be sleeping, recovering after the battering she had taken last night.

He shifted from foot to foot, noticing a flash of movement at one of the ground floor windows, and he tensed, prepared to face off against the demon again, but he relaxed when he realized it was just Miriana's aunt gazing absentmindedly out of the large windows in the kitchen. The family resemblance between the three of them was shocking; they all had the same pale skin, warm dark eyes and raven black hair, although Eve's was streaked with silver. He was fascinated by Miriana's relationship with them, how strongly she loved them and the sacrifices she was prepared to make for them. It put a strange ache in his chest which he couldn't understand, which confused him. He found himself wishing things he knew he shouldn't, and if his superiors found out, he would be in serious trouble. It was not the mark of a good angel to feel emotion, especially not towards a human.

The curtains across Miriana's long windows were suddenly drawn back and she appeared at the window, gazing wistfully out at the lake that gleamed dully in the late morning light. He watched her carefully, noting the angry looking bruise across her pale cheek and the way she held her ribcage and winced when she moved.

"You could get in real trouble for this, you know," said a voice next to him.

He turned, startled, to see a middle aged woman with brunette hair that waved gently to the bottom of her shoulder blades, dressed in a pair of loose grey linen pants and a long black wool cardigan with a white camisole top underneath. There were the slightest beginnings of wrinkles around her mouth and eyes, which regarded him with a burning intensity with gave away what she really was.

"Embriel," he said calmly.

The angel beside him was far older than him, ancient, and he saw her as his only guide, the only one that listened to him. She was the one who had guided him when he first came to earth, bewildered by all the complexities of a human host. She tossed her long curls and took a step closer to him.

"You know you shouldn't be here," she said softly, glancing up at Miriana, who was still leaning against the window, lost in thought.

"I know," he sighed.

"If Zachariah finds out..." she began.

"I know!" he snapped, and the words came out with more anger than he had intended them to. He felt her put a slender hand on his shoulder.

"I'm not telling you to upset you, Castiel," she murmured, "I'm telling you to help you."

"I know," he mumbled, "I'm sorry."

She patted his shoulder, and then said quietly, "You saved her life last night."

He couldn't think of anything to say to this, "I was just doing what I thought was right. I couldn't have let her die."

"Of course not," she said soothingly, "You did the right thing. But they," she pointed her finger up at the sky, "Won't see it that way."

Miriana moved back from the window and drew the curtains across them again, blocking her from sight. Embriel removed her hand from Castiels' shoulder and stepped back, sighing.

"You can't stand out here all day," she said quietly, "You have things to do."

She paused for a second, and when she started speaking again, he could hear the laughter in her voice.

"Besides, it's not very gentlemanly to linger outside a lady's bedroom."

He turned to look at her, a slight smile playing across her lips, the skin around her eyes crinkled, before she disappeared with a soft flutter.

He took one last, lingering glance at Miriana's room, then followed her.


	21. My Hero

_Hi everyone, thanks so much for reading and hope you're all still enjoying it ;) Thanks for all the reveiws and favourites._

A week had passed since the night Miriana had come close to death, only to be saved at the last minute, and she still had not had to chance to thank her saviour. He hadn't fluttered into existence like she'd hoped he would of, and she had no idea how to contact him. It wasn't like he had a mobile, or an email address. She spent most days pottering around her aunts' vast garden, tidying, sitting by the shore of Lake Pleasant or reading in her room. Her aunt banned her from anything hunting related, insisting she needed to recover properly before she could even start thinking about hunting again. Miriana was not used to not doing anything proactive for such a long time.

She had received a very worried phone call from Dean at five o'clock one morning, demanding to know what had happened, and why hadn't she called sooner, and what did she think she was playing at? Miriana groggily mumbled, I'll ring you back later, and put the phone down. The next day she had had to listen to a particularly long lecture about how important it was to keep people informed and keep communication between hunters. She had managed eventually to cut through his lecture and tell him that she had managed to save a seal, after which he promptly shut up. There was a long moment of silence at the other and of the phone.

"Well, good job, I guess," he finally mustered up.

"Is that it?" Miriana demanded, "Good job?! God, it takes a lot to impress you doesn't it?"

"I didn't mean it like that, I just...I didn't realise how many seals are being broken around us all the time," he sighed, a rush of static over the phone line.

"I know," Miriana said quietly, "Looks like this Armageddon might come quicker than we thought, huh?"

"The angels will stop it," Dean said, although he didn't sound convinced.

"Well they're not doing a very good job so far, are they?" she paused for a second, and then said, "Dean, do you know how to get hold of Castiel?"

"I dunno do I?" he sounded exasperated, "Just dial 911 angel," he sniggered.

"Hilarious," Miriana grumbled, "But seriously?"

"I told you, I don't know. Why?" he asked, sounding suddenly suspicious.

"Nothing," she answered quickly, "I just need to see him for something."

"What?"

"Stop being so bloody nosy!" she snapped.

"Alright, don't get your panties in a twist," he said, "Listen anyway; me and Sam think we've found a case. Feel like joining us?"

Miriana hesitated. She enjoyed hunting with Sam and Dean, but there was a part of her that didn't want to Nate and her aunt and go so far away she couldn't help them. Especially not after the encounter with that demon a week ago.

"I'll...I'll get back to you," she said haltingly.

"Decide quick okay? We're going in the next few days."

Two days later, Miriana was packing her bags, neatly putting her weapons away in the large tan holdall she used to store some of her weapons when she was hunting on the road, and folding her clothes away. Her aunt hadn't seemed that surprised or upset when Miriana told her she was hunting with Sam and Dean for a while; on the contrary, she seemed quite pleased that she was spending time on the road. Nate acted indifferent, but Miriana had the sneaking suspicion that he was more disappointed than he would ever let on. She saw his dark, chocolate brown eyes fall when she told him, but he instantly covered it up by shrugging it off. She felt guilty for leaving him, but she knew time out hunting with Sam and Dean would be good for her, however much of a wrench it was for to leave the remnants of her family for weeks.

Miriana finished folding the last of her clothes into a large leather carry bag, then shut the suitcase and zipped it up, then heaved it down to the bottom of the stairs, where the tan holdall was already waiting. Nate was in his room, the dull strains of Greenday reverberating through the house, and her aunt had gone down for walk around Lake Pleasant in the unseasonably warm weather. She left her bags at the foot of the stairs and wandered out of the front door and slouched in her favourite bench in her aunts rose garden, the one that over looked the steep rolling hills, at the bottom of which lay Lake Pleasant. She rubbed a hand across her temples, trying to erase the slight nagging pain that heralded the start of a migraine. The pain in her ribs had receded enough so that she could forgot about it for at last a little while, but her skin was still black and blue, fading out to a sickly yellow around the edges. The bruises on her face had all but healed, and the lacerations on her back had scabbed over, which meant if she stretched her back to far they split open, so she spent most of her time focusing on stretching as little as possible.

Whilst she was outside and no one was around, she decided to try something she'd been thinking of for the past few days. She took a deep breath, and feeling highly self conscious and more than a little stupid she said,

"I don't really know how this works, but I'm guessing I talk, and you can hear, so...er...Castiel, I really need to talk to you."

She held her breath and waited, twisting her long pale fingers and hopping from foot to foot. After a few seconds, she sighed loudly.

"I guess that didn't work," she muttered, turning around, only to nearly walk into a tall figure stood behind her.

"Arrgh!" she squeaked, covering her hand with her mouth, "For Christ's sake don't do that!" she exclaimed at Castiel, who took a step backwards, looking slightly sheepish.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, "I didn't mean to startle you."

"Well, then don't just appear like that! Just give me some warning! Bloody hell!"

He stayed silent for a few seconds, then when Miriana's breathing had slowed down, he said,

"You wanted to talk?"

"What?" Miriana asked, momentarily distracted by his sudden appearance, "Oh right, yeah.."

She looked down at her shoes, and shuffled her feet back and forth on the slightly damp grass.

"Look...I...er," she struggled to find the right words, very aware that she was floundering, "I just wanted to say thank you. I mean, I'd be six feet under right now if it weren't for you, so...thanks."

"I...it's..." she was surprised to hear him struggling for words as well; the situation between the two of them was the epitome of awkward, "You're very welcome," he said at last.

She couldn't think of anything to say, and the uncomfortable silence stretched between them as it always seemed to do whenever the two of them were together.

"I wanted to ask," he began, and Miriana looked up, surprised to find that now he was the one staring at his feet, as if his shoes had suddenly become an object of fascination, "How are you?"

"Me?" she said, bewildered, "Oh, I'm fine."

He raised his eyes to hers, and she could swear that she saw concern in them, deep down in his the stormy blue depths.

"Are you sure?"

She was going to lie, but his intense eyes seemed to interfering with her thought processes, and she blurted out,

"Well, my ribs ache when I breathe still, and the bruises haven't faded yet, and the cuts on my back open every time I move, but you know, could be worse, I mean I'll heal," she babbled. She immediately dropped her eyes, embarrassed, feeling a wave of red hot heat flood across her cheeks.

"Are you going hunting this week?" he asked suddenly.

She was confused by his interest in her, "Yeah, with Sam and Dean."

"Are you sure that's wise?" she suddenly realized he was stood closer to her than he was before._ When did that happen?_

"Who are you, my father?" she said sarcastically.

"No, of course I'm not," he said, looking confused, "But you're still healing. You need to recover properly."

"I don't understand this," Miriana snapped, feeling suddenly, irrationally angry, "Why are you bothered about me?"

"I...I don't really know. I just am," he murmured, almost like it was a confession to some terrible crime. He dropped his gaze again, but not before Miriana saw the anguish in his dark eyes. She couldn't understand why he was so terrified of letting any emotion through his cold facade.

She touched his arm lightly, brushing the sleeve of his tan trench coat with her fingertips, afraid he would disappear if she pressed any harder. He seemed so afraid of contact. She was glad he didn't jerk away.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, "I didn't mean to get angry."

"_I'm _sorry," he insisted, "I didn't mean to upset you."

"You didn't," Miriana said hastily, "I'm just too much of a hothead sometimes."

She suddenly realized that she was still lightly touching his sleeve, and she quickly dropped it to her side. The silence between them stretched again, but it was broken by a loud shout coming from the direction of the house.

"Miriana!" Nate was shouting, crunching across the gravel.

"Oh crap, that's Nate," she said breathlessly, turning in the direction of his voice, then back to Castiel.

"I have to leave now anyway," he said, although Miriana could swear she could hear a tinge of disappointment in his voice. One second he was there, and the next second she felt a light breeze brush across her skin, leaving a trail of goose bumps, and he was gone.

"There you are," Nate said brusquely, "How you can disappear on such a short amount of space?" he looked around the empty garden, "Were you just talking to yourself?"

"No, of course not," Miriana barked quickly, hoping the blush wouldn't show in her cheeks. She rubbed her arms to hide the goose bumps that were still so obvious on her pale skin.

"Huh. I thought I heard you talking to somebody."

"Well I wasn't," she snapped.

"Alright, alright don't damage your blood pressure," he snapped back, "Your bags are in your car."

She ran a hand through her hair, "Nate, stop," she said, holding out a placating hand, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap."

He didn't turn around, and Miriana expected him to sweep off in a rage, but the next second he had barrelled into her, throwing his long arms around her shoulders, crushing her tightly against him. She extracted her arms with some difficulty and patted him on the back.

"Can't you stay?" he asked, his voice muffled by her shoulder.

"Dean and Sam need me," she said; it wasn't technically true, they didn't need her at all. But it made it easier for Nate. He let go of her, and she stepped back and ruffled his jet black hair so it became even more tousled.

He walked her to her car, where her aunt was waiting. It was a long and fairly teary goodbye for all three of them; it sounded morbid, but with a life like Miriana's, you simply never knew when you would see the ones you loved again. All it took was slip up, even for the most experienced hunters.

As she climbed into her Mercedes, her aunt caught her arm and murmured quietly, "Take extra care of yourself, sweetheart. The world's gotten darker than we've ever known it."


	22. Fire of Unknown Origin

_Hey, hope you enjoy this chapter, and thanks as always to everyone who has reveiwed or added a favourite, I really appreciate it. Hope you're all enjoying the run up to christmas! :)_

When Miriana met Dean and Sam at the unusually upmarket (for them at least) motel they had chosen, she was almost crushed by the force of Sam's hug, who thankfully seemed to have forgotten the argument they had had the last time they had seen each other. Dean gave her a hug that lifted her off her feet, squeezing the air out of her lungs.

"Well you two are certainly glad to see me," she said, massaging her still tender ribcage as she followed Dean and Sam to their motel room on the ground floor.

"Yeah well, we're glad to see you in one piece. Since when did you become allergic to picking up the phone and letting us know you're okay?" Dean demanded, handing her a beer from the slightly grotty looking fridge in the corner of the kitchenette in the room. She carefully sat on one of the beds surprised by the spring the mattress had. Most motels she was used to had beds as hard as rock. Maybe she should stop scrimping on the motels she stayed in.

"You've got other things to worry about and anyway, I didn't think you would find out. How did you find out anyway?" she asked, as Sam and Dean sat down at the round table, pushing aside large piles of leather bound books to make room for their beers.

"Your aunt," Dean answered, taking a swig of beer, "At least she keeps us updated."

Miriana rolled her eyes, "Don't get pissy Dean. You two don't always keep me updated," she said defensively.

"Yeah well anyway," Dean interjected hastily, "Your Aunt also told us a certain winged friend has kept visiting you." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Miriana felt her cheeks burning and hoped it wouldn't show, "Yeah and?" she said coolly, hoping neither of them would notice the blush or the slight shake in her voice.

"You're not another one of God's power rangers, are you?" Dean asked a slight mocking edge in his voice.

"No," she snapped, "And would it be so hard to believe if I was?"

They said nothing, but Deans' smirk grew wider.

"Maybe Cas just wants to keep her in the loop," Sam said, clearly trying to alleviate the situation before it descended into the pinching and eye poking.

"Maybe he likes her, if you know what I mean?"

"Don't be ridiculous," she muttered. However much she may want it to be true, she found it hard to believe he could any kind of strong emotion about anything, despite the little glimpses she saw in him sometimes.

"Since when have you called him 'Cas', anyway?" she questioned, raising her eyebrows, "Don't tell me he's calling you two Sammy and Deano?"

"No," Dean snapped in a sulky tone, "It's just easier you know? His full name's a pain in the ass to say. It's like six syllables long."

"It's three," Sam said in a bored tone, raising his green eyes to the ceiling.

Miriana rolled her eyes as Sam and Dean began a pointlessly long argument about nicknames, and whilst they were rambling at each other, Miriana scrutinized the both of them carefully.

On the surface, neither of them looked much different to how they usually did. But Miriana knew them well, and see could see the signs of strain in their faces, in the dark, sickly purple shadows under Dean's wide green eyes, and the faint lines of worry etched onto Sam's young face. Dean was sitting ever so slightly hunched over, as if he were in pain, even see could no visible signs of any injuries, although she knew all of the pain Dean had he carried around inside like a gripping ache in his guts. She knew what it felt like to carry that feeling around with you for days, like a weight sitting heavily on your chest, so it became hard to breathe. She couldn't stop herself worrying herself about Dean; she didn't for one second naively believe that Dean had strolled out of hell without any emotional scars, however deep he might hide them. When she studied Sam, she saw even more of a change in him than she had the last time she had seen him; it was hard to place exactly what it was it was so subtle. It was like there was something lurking behind his eyes, stirring in their hazel-green depths. Again, she heard Seth's warning echo through her mind, memories of that stormy day and that troubling news that had settled in her mind like a constant headache. She couldn't help thinking that his demonic powers were the source of this slightly frightening change. She felt like the safe, caring Sam she knew, the Sam that had sat up with her late at night after she woke screaming from her nightmares, was slowing disappearing inside this new Sam, the one that came complete with the supernatural powers and the manipulative demon on his shoulder.

"What are you staring at? Have I got something on my face?" Sam questioned, running a hand across his jaw. Miriana blinked a few times and shook her head to clear it of such disturbing thoughts.

"Nothing," she said hastily, "Just admiring how handsome you are of course," she said sweetly, winking. He smiled widely, so dimples curved into his cheeks, and he suddenly looked more like the Sam she remembered, and the sudden contrast was shocking. She noticed Dean watching Sam with a slight crease across his forehead, and she felt that perhaps they were thinking exactly the same thing. He dropped his eyes from Sam, dug around in his pocket and pulled a handful of Halloween sweets from the pocket of his leather jacket that was slung over the back of his chair. He unwrapped several and stuffed them in his mouth, chewing with what looked like great effort, Sam and Miriana watching him with bemused expressions.

"I see you're celebrating Halloween with great fervour Dean," Miriana sniggered.

"Talking of Halloween," Sam said loudly, cutting over Dean before he could another start another argument, "We need to talk about this case we've found," said Sam, flipping open one of the heavy leather books and handing it to Miriana. She studied the cracked, yellowed pages carefully.

"Sam Hain?" she said, surprised, "The lord of Halloween? You think he's here in this town?"

Dean mumbled something unintelligible through a mouthful of sweets.

"What?" Miriana barked. Dean swallowed hard and cleared his throat.

"I _said_, there have been two pretty suspicious murders so far," Dean explained, "Razor blades in this guy's candy, and boiling hot water at an apple bob at some chick's Halloween party," Dean explained, "Man, she was hot."

Miriana raised her eyes to the ceiling and chose to ignore that particular comment, "So you think someone's trying to raise Sam Hain?"

"That's what it seems like," Sam sighed, leaning back in his chair, "And the last death has to occur-"

"Let me guess," Miriana interrupted, "Halloween."

"Yep. So we really need to know who 's doing this."

"Any leads?"

"We think it's the insanely hot cheerleader from the party," Dean said, rifling through his pockets for yet more sweets.

Miriana stood up, brushing nonexistent dirt from her black skinny fit jeans, "Well then why are we sitting around? We may as well out something about this girl."

"I'm game," Dean announced, standing up as well.

"Not finding out her bra size or anything like that Dean. Focus, Okay?"

Dean huffed, "Of course I can focus. I'm a professional."

As she shrugged on her leather jacket and grabbed her car keys, she muttered under her breath,

"I'll believe that when I see it."

***

Miriana split up from Sam and Dean and spent a good hour and a half wandering around the neat suburbs and perfectly manicured pavements, trying to find out as much information as possible about the girl whom they suspected was the witch attempting to raise Sam Hain. Nobody seemed to know much about her, except that she lived alone in an apartment on the edge of town, and she sat in her car feeling thoroughly useless. She couldn't even get any remotely helpful information. She got a phone call from Dean telling her to meet them back at the motel, so she drove back to the motel just off the main road leading into town. She pulled into the car park of the motel just as Sam and Dean were heading towards their room on the ground floor. She caught up with them, gathering that Dean had just had some sort of heated exchange with a slightly rotund kid in an astronauts outfit. She was still laughing as Dean unlocked the door and they stepped inside to see two figures in the room. Miriana's initial thought was panic, her hunter's instinct of suspecting the worst in every situation kicking in, until she realized who it was that was seated at the kitchen table.

"Who are you?" Sam demanded loudly, pulling his gun swiftly and fluidly from his inside his jacket and aiming it unwaveringly at the trench coat clad figure. She was about to put a hand out to stop him, but Dean got there first.

"Sam stop!" he put his hand over Sam's gun, pushing it down so that it pointed towards the floor, "its Castiel, the angel." He glanced over at the hulking figure that was stood facing the long window at the end of the hall, "Him I don't know."

At the sound of Castiel's name, Miriana's hear gave a flutter in her chest, and she watched, barely breathing as stood up and turned around to face them. Sam's face was flushed with embarrassment, and he hurriedly shoved his gun back into his jacket awkwardly.

"Hello Sam," Castiel said in his quiet, gravelly voice, his face ambivalent, his eyes coolly neutral.

"Oh my God," said Sam in a breathless voice, and Miriana had the impression of a besotted teenager meeting her pop star idol, "I didn't mean to-sorry. It's an honour, really, I've heard a lot about you," he said sincerely, holding out one of his long hands.

Miriana watched nervously as Castiel scrutinized Sam's hand as if he expected to suddenly sprout fangs and bite him, as Sam continued to hold his hand out, looking expectant. She glanced at Dean, his brows furrowed and his eyes watching them both carefully. It seemed like the awkward moment would never stop; Miriana shifted from foot to foot, twisting her long fingers around each other like she always did when she was nervous.

After what seemed like an eternity, Castiel finally grasped hands with Sam, and Miriana let out an inward sigh of relief, and she felt Dean relax a little next to her.

"And I you," Castiel said, regarding him carefully, "Sam Winchester, the boy with the demon blood," he placed his other hands over Sam's and turned it over; she saw Sam shift uncomfortably, and she could sympathise. She knew what it felt like to be trapped under the power of his eyes and voice. It was moments like that that it became apparent that he was far from human.

"Glad to hear you've ceased your..." he paused for a moment, as if he were searching for the right words, "extra curricular activities."

"Let's keep it that way," said the figure by the window in a deep monotone. Sam and Dean both glanced over, Sam looking painfully uncomfortable as Castiel released his hand.

"All right chuckles," Dean barked, "Who's your friend?" he asked Castiel, who completely ignored him.

"The raising of Sam Hain, have you stopped it?"

"Why?" Dean snapped, hostility evident in his green eyes.

Castiel switched his intense gaze from Sam to Dean, "Dean have you located the witch?"

"Yes, we've located the witch," Dean replied, heaving an aggravated sigh.

"And is the witch dead?" Castiel asked.

"No but-" Sam began.

"We know who it is," interjected Dean.

"Apparently the witch knows who you are too," Castiel said, walking over to the closest bedside table and picking up a small, dirty brown pouch, which Miriana recognized immediately as a hex bag.

"This was in the wall of your room," he said, holding it up for them to see clearly, "If we hadn't found it, surely one or both of you would be dead. Do you know where the witch is now?"

"We're working on it," Dean said tensely.

"That's unfortunate," Castiel said expressionlessly.

"Why do you care?" Dean asked, anger obvious in his voice. Sam was still looking uncomfortable, his tall frame hunched.

"The raising of Sam Hain is one of the sixty six seals," Castiel explained, and Miriana felt that initial burst of panic and fear she always felt whenever the seals were brought up.

"So this is about your buddy Lucifer?"

"Lucifer is no friend of ours," rumbled the figure at the window in his deep bass.

Dean glared at his back warily, "It's just an expression."

Castiel turned his eyes back to Dean, a new intensity in them, "Lucifer cannot rise, the breaking of the seal must be prevented at all costs."

"Okay great," Dean said, shrugging his broad shoulders, "Well now you're here you can tell us where she is, we'll gank her and everybody goes home happy."

Castiel shook his head, "This witch is very powerful, she's cloaked even our methods." Dean and Sam looked surprised, as if they couldn't imagine anything being able to hide from an angel, but Miriana remembered back in New Richmond when he hadn't been able to find the demons, and sent her instead.

"We already know who she is, so if we work together-" Sam began, looking eager to please.

"Enough of this," growled the figure yet again.

"Who are you and why should I care?" barked Dean, throwing his voice across the room.

The figure facing the window turned around, to reveal a bald, heavy set man, with ebony skin, dressed in a cobalt blue suit with an open necked white shirt underneath. He thudded towards them across the floor, radiating hostility, and Miriana had to force herself not to shrink away from him. He exuded a sense of crushing power, more malevolent than Castiel appeared. He was watching him, the slightest glint of wariness in his blue eyes.

"This is Uriel. He's what you might call...a specialist." Miriana really didn't like the sound of that.

"What kind of specialist?" Dean asked, beating Miriana to it. Neither of the angels responded, and Miriana felt that twist of worry start in her gut.

"What are you gonna do?" he demanded, looking between the two.

"You, all of you," for the first time, his eyes flickered to Miriana, standing mute behind Sam and Dean, "You need to leave this town immediately."

"Why?"

Castiel heaved a sigh, "Because we're about to destroy it."


	23. Untouched

This is your plan, you're gonna smite the whole friggin' town?" Dean demanded. Uriel was watching him, his brows furrowed in anger.

"We're out of time, this witch has to die," Castiel snapped back, "The seal must be saved."

"There are a thousand people here!" Sam said in a quietly horrified voice.

"One thousand, two hundred fourteen," Uriel corrected; Miriana was unnerved by the precision of that number. Every person, every one of them about to die.

"And you're willing to kill them all?" Sam asked in an almost disbelieving tone.

"This isn't the first time I've...purified a city." The conversation was beginning to make Miriana feel slightly ill. She had to fight the urge to punch Uriel right in his smug face.

"Look," Castiel began in a placating tone, "I understand this is regrettable."

"Regrettable?!" Dean repeated, incredulous.

"We have to hold the line. Too many seals have broken already."

"So you screw the pooch on some seals and now this town has to pay the price?" Dean asked, the incredulity still in his voice.

"It's the lives of one thousand against the lives the lives of six billion, there's a bigger picture here," Castiel argued back; Miriana thought she could hear the slightest hint of anger in his tone. She glanced at Sam, who was staring at the carpet of the motel as if it held the answers to their argument.

"Right. 'Cos your bigger picture kind of guys," Dean growled. Castiel took a step forwards so that he was right in Dean's face, quiet fury seething in his blue eyes. Miriana watched the two of them apprehensively, worried that someone was about to start a fight.

"Lucifer cannot rise. He does and hell rises with him. Is that something you're willing to risk?" Dean opened his mouth, then shut it again, conflict raging across his features. She could imagine him hearing the screaming of those trapped in hell in his head.

"We'll stop this witch before she summons anyone," Sam said beseechingly, "Your seal won't be broken and no one has to die!"

Castiel was still glaring at Dean, who continued to shift on the spot, twitching his shoulders. All the stress in the room was giving Miriana a headache.

"We're wasting time with these mud monkeys," Uriel grumbled in his deep growl. Sam raised his eyebrows, looking furious.

"I'm sorry, but we have our orders," Castiel sighed, turning away from them.

"No, you can't do this? You're angels?! I mean, aren't you supposed to-" Sam began, his green eyes confused. Uriel gave a small chuckle in response to this; Castiel remained silent.

"You're supposed to show mercy!"

"Says who?" said Uriel, a cold smirk twisting the corners of his mouth.

"We have no choice," said Castiel quietly, his back still turned to them.

"Of course you have a choice! I mean, come on. What, you've never questioned a crap order? What are you both just a couple of hammers?"

"Look, even if you can't understand it, have faith. The plan is just."

"How can you even say that?" asked Sam, bewildered.

Castiel rounded on Sam, "Because it comes from Heaven. That makes it just."

Dean shook his head, "It must be nice. To be so sure of yourselves."

Castiel had an argument ready for this particular comment, "Tell me something Dean. When your father gave you an order, didn't you obey?" _Good point_, Miriana thought begrudgingly.

"Well sorry boys, looks like the plans have changed." Castiel gave him an incredulous look. He clearly wasn't used to being defied; she had to admit she could understand why.

"You think you can stop us?" Uriel asked in a mocking tone.

"No," Dean admitted, striding towards Uriel, "But if you're gonna smite this whole town, you're gonna have to smite us with it because we are not leaving. You went to all the trouble of busting me out of hell, I figure I'm worth something to the man upstairs. You wanna waste me? Go ahead. See how he digs that."

"I'll drag you out of here myself," Uriel threatened in a deadly quiet voice.

Yeah but you'll have to kill me. Then we're back to the same problem. I mean come on. You're gonna wipe out a whole town, for little witch. Sounds to me like you're overcompensating for something."

He turned away from Uriel and back towards Castiel, Sam looking more uncomfortable than ever, "We can do this. We will find that witch and we will stop the summoning." Listening to the conviction and confidence in Deans' voice, it was hard not to believe him.

"Castiel, I will not let these-" began Uriel in a voice brimming with fury.

"Enough-" barked Castiel, holding out a hand to silence Uriel, keeping his wary eyes on Dean.

"I suggest you move quickly."

She heard Sam let out a sigh of relief, and Dean turned away from the angels and strode towards the door, pulling Sam with him. Miriana lingered for a few seconds, and Castiels eyes met hers; she quickly looked away and fled through the door, feeling his eyes on her like a weight against her back.

***

Castiel had chosen the nearest park to sit and think, privately hoping Uriel wouldn't follow him, but he had no such luck; he was like his own hulking, constantly angry shadow. And not much more talkative than a shadow either. He sat in the bench, wrapped in a furious silence, as Castiel watched the human children dressed in bright Halloween costumes running around them on all sides of park, followed by their parents.

"The decisions been made," he said, as an attempt to start a conversation. Uriel gave a cold chuckle.

"By a mud monkey," he grumbled. Castiel felt a surge of something white hot flare up in his chest.

"You shouldn't call them that," he snapped, glaring at Uriel.

"Well, that what they are," he waved a hand at a group of passing children, "Savages. Just plumbing on two legs."

Castiel had a sudden, unbidden thought of Miriana and found himself inclined to disagree. Strongly.

"You're close to blasphemy," he growled. Uriel did not respond, simply shifted his massive frame a little on the bench.

"There's a reason we were sent to save him. He has potential, he may succeed here."

His shoulders felt suddenly and irrationally heavy, and he dropped down onto the bench and rested his chin on his hands.

"At any rate," he sighed, "It's out of our hands."

"It doesn't have to be," Uriel said, his voice layered with insinuations.

Although he had a suspicion he knew what he was getting at, he said "And what would you suggest?"

"That we drag Dean Winchester out of here. Then we blow this insignificant pinprick off the map."

"You know our true orders," Castiel said, rounding on Uriel, "Are you prepared to disobey?" Uriel opened his mouth as if he were about to say something, but he was interrupted by a familiar voice.

"Oh perfect, just who I wanted to see. Tweedle-Dum and Tweedle-bloody--Dee."

Castiel scrambled to his feet the second he saw Miriana stood in front of him with her arms folded resolutely across her chest, a stormy expression on her face. He had desperately wanted to speak to her back in the motel room, but she turned and dashed out of the room the second he looked at her. So he had ignored the odd ache this left and found the park to go and think. But know she didn't look she was in the mood to talk; to shout maybe. Uriel remained sitting, his face dark with anger.

"Don't talk to us like that girl," he barked. Castiel watched nervously as Miriana eyes almost visibly darkened with anger. Her folded arms dropped to her sides, her fists clenched so tight they were bone white.

"How about you don't talk to me like that!" she hissed, fuming, "I won't be spoken to like this! Just who the hell do you think you are?!"

Uriel stood up; his hulking physique made Miriana look like tiny and very fragile, even though she was drawn up as tall as she could go. He took a threatening step towards her, but she didn't back down.

"Uriel," Castiel warned quietly. He didn't like the way this was going.

"I could cut you down without so much as thinking," he spat aggressively.

"Yeah, go ahead then," Miriana bit back as he stepped even closer to her, so close she had to crane her head back to look at him.

"Uriel!" Castiel shouted, just as he lifted his arm, as if to strike her. A few people at the other end of the park looked up curiously. He put a restraining hand over Uriel's huge shoulder, gripping tightly. He turned to look at him, his eyes black with rage.

"Enough," he said. He was very aware of Miriana watching him closely. Uriel dropped his arm and took a step backwards, the heat of his anger cooling slightly.

"Go and seek revelation," Castiel said, quietly commanding. Uriel took one last furious glance at Miriana, who returned it with equal hostility, then vanished. He heard Miriana let out a long, quavering breath.

"Just so you know, I really don't like him," she said, folding her arms quickly, but not before he noticed the shake in her hands, or the rapid rise and fall of her chest.

"I'm sorry," he said, "he has something of a...quick temper."

"So I've noticed," she muttered. He watched her curiously as she shifted from foot to foot, seemingly searching for the right words to say. He had never noticed the shade of her hair before; the sun streaming through the autumnal trees picked out strands of bright red and burnished copper in her hair. When she looked up at him, the light caught streaks of green in her dark brown eyes and lit her pale skin a soft shade of pale gold. She took a deep breath before she spoke.

"Are you really going to blow this town away?"

"If the Winchesters cannot stop the witch, we may not have a choice," he said quietly, measuring her reaction.

"How could you? How could you kill all those people?" she asked. He had to turn his eyes away from the look in hers. He felt that strange ache twist again.

"I don't want to," he returned his eyes to hers, beseeching, "I'm not cruel, Miriana, whatever you may think of me." He tried to ignore the thrill he felt when he said her name. Though he was still looking at the leaf strewn ground, he felt her take a step towards him.

"I don't think you're cruel, Cas," he was surprised how glad he felt to hear he call him by his newly adopted nickname, "I wouldn't think that of you. Of course I wouldn't." Her voice had gone very soft, "But you know this is wrong."

He raised his head; she was closer than he'd thought, so close that when a light breeze blew around them, he could smell her citrus perfume.

"If I tell you something, you will promise to keep it to yourself?"

"Of course," she said immediately, her brows furrowed.

"I do think this is wrong. And I can't help but question my orders," he glanced up at the sky, "It feels like something's wrong up there."

"Like what?"

"They're asking us to do things, things that seem so wrong, but..."he paused for a long second, "I can't disobey. You don't want to know the things they do to those who disobey."

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

He tilted his head, "Why? It's not your fault."

"No, it's just a way of saying I'm sorry for you," she explained. He still couldn't understand. He was finding her confusing again.

"Never mind," she rolled her eyes. It was at that moment that he felt that strange tugging and the whispering in his ears that meant he was wanted in heaven. Usually he would return immediately, but he was finding it increasingly difficult to leave each time he saw her.

"I have to go."

"Before you do," she slipped her slender fingers between his; he was too stunned to pull away or react at all. He'd never in all his two thousand years had someone hold his hand. Her fingers were soft, and he could feel the cool impress of her delicate silver rings against his fingers.

"Be careful," at the shock that was clear on his face, she said, "Well, you're always saying it to me; I thought it was about time I repaid the favour."

She gave him a tentative smile that made the breath hitch in his throat, then let go of his hand and stepped back. He stood stock still on the spot, his brain still trying to catch up with what had happened, still feeling her fingers against his.

"You've got stuff to do, Cas," she reminded him gently. He blinked a few times, took a last long look at her, and then disappeared.


	24. The Creeps

_Hey, another quick update, the christmas holidays give me plenty of time to write (when I'm not revising that is!) Anyways a huge thank you to anyone who has left a comment or a favourite, I always appreciate it! Hope everyone has a great christmas! :)_

Okay, so holding his hand had been a little bold. It had just felt like the right thing for her to do at the time; he looked so distressed. Besides she was only comforting a friend, there was no other intention behind it; at least that's what she told herself. She had to admit his reaction had had been quite amusing, he simply stood on the spot, not moving, and she had had the impression that he would have stood there for much longer if she hadn't reminded him he had things to do. She had been surprised again by how warm his hands were, like she had the very first time she had seen him. He skin seemed far hotter than normal, for reasons unknown to her.

One thing she knew for certain was that she really didn't like the hulking Uriel. There was something about him that frightened her; she suspected it was the impression of crushing, consuming power he exuded like a cloud of toxins. Although she had tried not to show it, she had been terrified when he had threatened to cut her down, and standing her ground against him was one of the toughest things she'd done. Every instinct in her body had been screaming at her to run as fast as she could in the opposite direction, but she had refused to let him see her weakness. It was obvious to her what he thought of humans, and it wasn't the curiosity and fascination she sensed Castiel had, but more like they were all filthy animals, no better than savages. She was determined to prove him wrong, even if that meant idiotic bravery and facing off against him each time she saw him. She had been glad for Castiels' presence with them; without him, she had the feeling she would not have been able to be so brave. She found him so reassuring, not full of malevolence like Uriel, but more of a sense of deep intelligence and something like caring in him. She was in no doubt that if Castiel hadn't been there to restrain him, he would have killed her where she stood. So that was the second time he had saved her life. It was becoming a regular occurrence for them it seemed. She wished there was some way she could return the favour, but she couldn't imagine that she could defeat anything that threatened Castiel's life; he was an all powerful angel after all.

Night was beginning to fall now, the sky along the horizon slowly fading from amber to dusky purple to powder blue. Sam and Dean were dealing with the witch, and Miriana had spent the afternoon watching for any signs of trouble, ready to warn Sam and Dean, and researching ways to stop Sam Hain if they were unable to stop him. She was heading back towards her car, which was parked at the opposite end of town, against the pavement alongside a large, perfectly tended graveyard, the long willows that trailed their branches into the water casting jagged shadows across the grass. The sun was at that point in the sky where Miriana's shadow was cast eerily long and twisted against the ground. It had gotten suddenly cold, and there was a barely perceptible change in the atmosphere, like something rotten had seeped up from the ground of the graveyard and up into the air so that Miriana's skin crawled. She wrapped her leather tighter across her chest and shivered, not from the cold, but from the awful sensation that pervaded the air. In the distance, Miriana could hear the laughter of the children trick or treating, but the noises sounded oddly muffled, as if she were hearing them through a wall. It was oddly quiet in the huge graveyard, not even birds singing or the noises of the insects. There was no breeze either; Miriana couldn't help feeling like she was stood in the eye of a storm, where everything went quiet before the destruction hit.

She was nearing the far gates of the graveyard, the cold iron filigree stark black against the sky, when she caught a flash of movement in her peripheral vision. She stopped and turned, but everything was still. She shook her head and carried on walking past on ornate marble headstone, when she felt something slither across her boots. She froze, holding her breath, her had going instinctively for her gun inside her leather jacket. She risked a glance at the ground.

She staggered back, uttering a small, strangled scream, almost tripping over a low gravestone and falling flat on the ground. Protruding out of the ground by the grave she had been standing by, was a long thin white hand, veined with blue like grotesque marble, thrusting out of the iron hard ground and reaching towards the sky. Large clumps of dry grass and earth began to crumble on either side of the hand, and another hand burst out of the ground. The earth in front of the wide gravestone collapsed, showing a dark, dank chasm in the ground. She watched horrified, as the body inside the hole began to crawl awkwardly out of the grave, it arms grasping for her blindly. It looked like a woman with long grey hair, and it reminded Miriana sickeningly of her aunt. She was emaciated and covered in clumps of damp, clinging mud that weighted her silver hair down and stained her grey skin. The simple black pant suit she had obviously been buried in clung to her protruding bones, and she dragged herself to her feet, the black heels she wore stabbed into the ground. She started to shuffle towards Miriana, who was still frozen on the spot, panicked and confused. The dead weren't supposed to just climb out of their graves.

It was the feel of the corpse's icy fingers scraping against the exposed skin of her chest that got her moving, finally. She jumped backwards, away from the grasping fingers, and straight into a pair of cold solid arms behind her, that folded across her chest. She screamed, and pushed against the arms at her chest desperately, feeling a cold gust of breath against her ear. She brought her foot down on the shoes of the thing that was holding her, and it let out a strangled moan and its arms slackened enough for her to leap free. She stumbled backwards, casting her horrified eyes over the graveyard; whilst she had been busy staring at the woman, other graves in the graveyard had burst open, their contents spilling out across the ground and lumbering towards her blindly. She could smell death in the air, feel it invading down her throat every time she sucked in a breath. She glanced behind her, noticing her car parked under a streetlamp. She turned and sprinted through the tall wrought iron gates of the graveyard, and hastily jammed her car keys into the lock on the boot of her car. The normal response that would be expected when a person was confronted with the walking dead was to climb into their car and drive as fast as they could in the opposite direction. But Miriana was not a normal kind of person, she was the kind of the person that would rather turn around and blow the heads off as many of the hordes of dead as she could. Being a hunter since you were young gives you a certain taste for adrenalin and danger.

She rifled in the jumbled contents of her boot until she felt her hands close around the cool barrel of her shotgun. She yanked it out, the box of shotgun shells already in her other hand. She jammed the iron rounds into the shotgun, and holding it out straight in front of her, she moved to the entrance of the graveyard and fired at the nearest corpse. The shell smashed into its chest, blowing a hole straight through its body and flooring it instantly, but it still got up again. Instantly realizing her mistake, she raised the shotgun a little higher, aimed straight for the head of yet another corpse that was grasping for her, and squeezed the trigger. She felt that familiar jolt of the recoil down her arm as the shell sped straight towards the skull of the nearest cadaver, drilling clean through the bone and the contents splattered all over the iron hard ground. Miriana cringed as the smell of death intensified, making a particular effort not to look at the ground where the thing now lay. There were still so many of them, no matter how times she fired and reloaded her shotgun, no matter how many times she aimed for their heads; they just kept coming, out of the gaping maws of their graves. She was having to back up slowly, back through the gates of the cemetery, back towards her car. She pumped her shotgun and aimed, but nothing happened. Swearing colourfully, she fumbled in her pockets desperately for more shells, but there were none left. She was forced to resort to swinging the butt of her gun as hard as she could at the hordes staggering blindly towards her. She retreated to her car, flung open the boot as quickly as her stiff fingers would allow, searching frantically for more shells, but she couldn't find them. Instead, her searching fingers found the handle of a long thin machete, so she pulled it out with the harsh scrape of metal. She jammed the blade into the first corpse that came at her, wincing as she wrenched it free with a stomach turning squelch. She turned to next corpse and did the same, then the next corpse, then the next, driving them to the ground, the sleek blade of the machete stained with dark, congealed blood. They were starting to lessen at last, the ground around her was littered with bodies, awfully contorted and twisted.

She was beginning to tire now, and somewhere in the back of her brain she realized that Dean and Sam must have failed to stop Sam Hain, failed to stop him dragging the dead up from their graves. She vaguely wondered where they were, and if they were faring any better than her, or if they were up to necks in the dead like she was. She could only hope they would be able to stop the hordes reaching the town, stop Sam Hain wreaking the havoc the ancient lore books promised he would. She could almost laugh at her bad luck for choosing to walk back through the biggest graveyard in town on the night the dead were raised. Her muscles were aching, and each lift of the machete was a great effort, sending lancing pain down her shoulders. And there was still more.

Suddenly, she felt an odd shift in the atmosphere, something she couldn't quite place, as if the air were being sucked from the world around her. As suddenly as t had come, it stopped, and the corpses stopped with it. They stopped reaching for her with their long, spidery fingers, and thudded into the floor as heavily as a stone. The cold chill seemed to have left the air, and warmth seemed to seep back in.

She slumped down heavily against her car, her breathing ragged and her muscles aching. She dropped the machete at her side, and it hit the slick pavement with a metallic clatter. She couldn't understand what had just happened, why they had risen so suddenly then died. Again. She was guessing the Winchesters had exorcised Sam Hain, and everything that he had raised had returned with him. She didn't know they had managed it, but her intuition gave her a horrible feeling that Sam and his otherworldly powers had something to do with it.

She cast her eyes around the decimated graveyard, the gaping graves and the piles of bodies strewn across the ground, and sighed loudly. She fumbled in her pocket until she felt her lighter.

"Well this is a mess," she said to herself, "Well, that is it. Everybody's getting salted and torched."


	25. Throw yourself away

_Hey hope you all had a great christmas and thanks again for the reveiws and favourites. I think this chapters a bit boring, but I'll update some better stuff soon :)_

It had taken Miriana a full hour to drag the bodies' together, salt and burn them, then clear away the mess of ashes left behind. In the back of her mind, she wondered what the local papers would make of this. She could see the headlines on grave desecration already.

She called Dean as soon as she was finished, and he answered her questions curtly, and put the phone down on her before she had chance to say "I'll see you at the motel." Angered, she dropped her mobile on the passenger seat and jabbed the keys into the ignition. She hadn't done anything to anger Dean, as far as she knew, so why was he so snappy on the phone? Whatever had happened, it wasn't fair for him to take it out on her. She didn't ask for any of this to happen.

She pulled her car into the parking lot of the motel, slammed the door loudly enough that Dean could hear it in his motel room, and pulled her holdall that contained her weapons out of the boot of her car. She swept towards the motel room she had booked earlier and flounced in, closing the door so forcefully the wooden frame rattled. She dropped her bag on the bed, the contents clanking, and sat down next to it, rubbing her temples. Another migraine was starting, yet again. She slumped backwards on the bed, and studied the dull ceiling above her.

She desperately needed a shower, but she didn't feel she had the energy to move. It took it out of you, taking on a graveyard full of relentless animated corpses. So that was another seal gone; it seemed they were breaking so rapidly. They weren't losing the battle against Hell yet, but they were hardly winning it either. She couldn't help but think that was no point in trying whatsoever. She had seen what demons were capable of.

There was a quiet knock at her door, and she got up stiffly from the bed and made her way slowly towards the door, not realizing how battered she was. She hoped it was Dean, so that she could give him chance to explain. She didn't think she could stretch as far as an apology from somebody as stubborn as Dean. She opened the door to reveal Sam's tall, broad frame, standing somewhat awkwardly in the halo of light from the lamp beside the door. He gave her a worried once over.

"Are you okay?" he asked. Miriana gestured him inside, and he sat on a rickety chair beside the kitchenette table.

"Nothing a long hot shower won't fix," she answered, dropping back onto the bed and stretching.

"So you got caught by the undead, I'm guessing?"

"Yeah, in a bloody graveyard of all places," she sighed.

"So you were involved in the mass grave desecration huh? The police are swarming all over it. I heard it on the police radio"

"Well, I didn't dig them up. They did that by themselves," she grumbled.

"But I'm guessing you were involved with the burning part?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"I didn't want any of them coming back and going a jolly into town to eat some brains."

"I don't think they do that," Sam said.

"Well, whatever," she said, waving her hands, "The possibility was there."

"They think it's the work of a satanic cult," said Sam, smirking.

"Terrific," Miriana mumbled. She got to her feet and searched in the pockets of her holdall for the painkillers she always carried with her. She shook the tattered cardboard box so that the tinfoil fell loose, and she popped out two pills.

"So where's Dean?" she asked, going over to the sink and pulling a glass from the cupboard above it.

"He's gone out," Sam answered curtly.

"He seemed angry when I spoke to him on the phone," she said casually, turning on the taps so the water sputtered out and into her glass.

"We had a bit of a fight," Sam said quietly.

"About?" Miriana questioned. There was no answer. She turned around to look at Sam, who was staring intently at the threadbare carpet.

"About?" she asked again.

"I used my powers to exorcize Sam Hain. I didn't mean to, I didn't want to, but I just didn't have a choice. He was going to kill everyone!" The words came out in a sudden rush, and he sighed after he finished, like he was getting rid of a great weight on his chest. He looked across at her with imploring eyes. Miriana, who had been taking a swig of water as he spoke, fought the urge to choke on the pills and spit the water out. She didn't know why she was surprised. She had suspected he had used his powers. But hearing it from his own mouth gave it an awful, concrete reality. She turned around and poured the water left in the glass in the sink, just to have an excuse to look away from his wide, beseeching green eyes that were begging her to understand what she simply couldn't.

"I see," she said, fighting to keep her voice level.

"Look Miriana, you have to understand," he began. He was on his feet now, his hand outstretched towards her. "I didn't have a choice. I know you hate these powers, but...I..." he tailed off, apparently at a loss for what to say.

"I understand," she said calmly as she could manage. She was torn between many conflicting emotions; her anger at these unknown powers, her concern for Sam, and her desperation to understand what was happening to him. Of course he didn't have a choice. But that didn't make her any less angry, or scared. But she couldn't get into fight about it again. Not tonight.

"Do you?"

She looked up at him, and her eyes met his.

"Yes," she said, with as much certainty as she could. He seemed to relax a little.

"Why is Dean is so pissed?" she asked, although she knew the answer.

"I...sort of promised him I wouldn't use them again. But I didn't have a choice!"

That seemed to be the official party line. But he had promised her, months ago when they had both been stood over Dean's freshly dug grave. And he had broken that promise without so much as a second thought, it seemed. It came as no surprise that he broken this one as well.

"Of course you didn't," she said in an even tone, fighting the urge to yell or throw something at him. He seemed to sense impending anger, as he began to shuffle awkwardly and his shoulders hunched over like he always did whenever he was in a difficult emotional situation. She kept a hold on temper though, somehow. Perhaps she was just too tired.

"Of course you didn't," she said with more conviction, taking a deep breath. She patted Sam on his broad chest. He seemed a little reassured that she hadn't burst into heated shouts.

"Look, I'm a little tired," she said, "Do you mind if I just get a few hours sleep?" she needed him out of the room, before her calm exterior shattered and she lashed out at him.

"Yeah, sure," he said, nodding his head, making his way towards the door. Just before he left her room, he turned around suddenly and threw his arms around her waist, resting his chin on top of her head.

"Thanks for being so understanding Miriana," he said earnestly. She felt a pang of guilt lance through her. If only he could see what was going on inside her head.

"No worries," she said, he voice muffled slightly by his broad chest. He let go of her and stepped backwards, looking for all the world like the teenage Sam, a genuine smile spread across his face. She shut the door quickly, before the guilt threatened to overwhelm her.

She stripped off her cold, dirty clothes and threw them carelessly in a pile in the corner. She turned on the clanking shower in her bathroom and climbed under the hot spray. She stood there for a long time, until she felt hot tears run down her face and mingle with the water that swirled down the drain. She turned the shower off, wrapped herself in a towel and sat on the edge of the toilet seat, the tears still making salty trails down her damp face. She didn't even know why she was crying.


	26. All My Life

Miriana awoke early in the morning, not feeling refreshed at all after a restless nights' sleep. In fact, she felt even worse than the night before. The migraine hadn't gone away, and had intensified to the point that even double strength pain killers did nothing to alleviate the chronic, stabbing pain. She showered and dressed for the day in faded grey jeans and a fitted top, even applied her usual smoky eyeliner, but found she couldn't even get out of the door. She lay back down on the bed and curled up in a foetal position, drawing her knees up to her chest and staring blankly at the floral wallpaper on the opposite wall. She couldn't understand what was wrong with her.

She heard Sam knocking at the door and calling out for her quietly after an hour of lying almost comatose on the bed. But she ignored it, pretended to still be asleep. He knocked once more and rung her twice, but stopped after that. She stayed slumped on her bed all morning, until eventually she felt well enough to stand up. She needed to get out of the room; it felt as if the walls were closing in on her, as if the air she was breathing choked her.

She ended up wandering around the suburbs aimlessly, when she ended up in the same park she had met Castiel in the previous day, when she saw a familiar leather jacket-clad figure on the same park bench Castiel had been sat on. She wasn't in the mood to speak to him in the mood she was in, so she turned and started striding towards the entrance to the park, hoping he hadn't seen her.

"Miriana!" _Goddamit! _No such luck. She ignored him and continued walking.

"Come on Miriana, don't cold shoulder me!" he pleaded.

She stopped, inhaling deeply then turned to face him. He was still sprawled across the bench, watching her closely with his green eyes.

"I'm sorry I snapped, okay? I was just, in a bad headspace, me and Sammy-"

"Had a fight, I know," she cut across him. She walked over slowly and slumped on the bench next to him. "He told me."

Dean sighed, "I'm guessing you know what he did with Sam Hain, then?"

"Yes of course," she said, running a hand through her hair, "And before you say anything Dean, I don't like it any more than you do, but...what can we do?"

"We can stop him," Dean stated.

"He's not a kid anymore Dean, you can't tell him what to do. He has to make his own mistakes," Miriana said quietly. Dean shook his head.

"Of course I can tell him what to do!" he said indignantly, "You and I both know what will happen if these powers get out of control," he leaned forwards, gazing intently at the ground.

"I can't let that happen to Sammy," he said quietly.

Miriana put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, "I know how you feel about these powers. I feel exactly the same. But he had to use them. Sam Hain would have killed you and everybody else in this town."

"But he promised he wouldn't use them!" Dean said, exasperated, "He promised."

"Some promises you have to break, Dean," she said softly.

Silence fell between them, and Miriana listened to the sounds of the birds in the autumnal trees and the shouts and laughter of the children in the playground.

"So the seal was broken, I'm guessing," Miriana said, although she didn't need the answer.

"Yeah, but we stopped him. That's enough."

They stopped talking yet again for a few minutes, then Dean said,

"Cas dropped in," he said nonchalantly.

"I see," Miriana said in a level voice. Dean glanced across at her.

"Has he fluttered in to see you recently?" he asked in a far too casual voice.

"I saw him yesterday," Miriana fought to keep any emotion out of her voice, "But I just sort of...stumbled across him."

"So what do you make of him?"

Miriana sighed. Did they really have to have this conversation? "I don't really know. He's...interesting, I guess."

"Hmmm."

Miriana whirled to face him, "What?" she demanded.

"Nothin'", Dean muttered, but she could swear she saw the slightest smirk around his lips. Dean turned to look at her fully in the face, and the smirk dropped from his face. She saw sparks of concern in his eyes.

"Are you alright? You look terrible!" he exclaimed. She hadn't really looked in the mirror this morning.

"Cheers, Dean," he grumbled, folding her arms across her chest.

But there was no laughter in his voice, "No seriously. You look ill."

Miriana shrugged her shoulders, surprised by how heavy they felt, as if she were carrying a great weight on them. "Maybe I should see a doctor," she said.

"C'mere," Dean said quietly, throwing his arm across Miriana's shoulders and pulling her into him. She leaned her head against his broad shoulder, breathing in that familiar scent of his aftershave mixed with the smell of his soft leather jacket, feeling the roughness of his plaid shirt under her cheek.

"You look sick, Miriana," Dean said in a quietly strained voice.

Glad that he couldn't see her face, Miriana simply said, "I'm fine. Really I'm always pale."

"You don't have to tell me," he said softly, "But if you do, I'm there. As long as there's a beer involved."

She almost felt guilty for her anger at him before, for forgetting how much he cared for her and how much she cared for him. Dean was the one dependent, reliable constant in her life, besides what was left of her family. She listened to the deep rhythmic sound of his breathing and the strong beat of his heart, feeling a little better than she had done before.

"Sam's worried about you, you know," Dean said, his voice rumbling in his chest, "He constantly worrying about you; it's driving me mad."

"Why?"

"He thinks you're ill. And now I guess I can agree with him."

"What can I do Dean? I can't imagine a doctor could give me anything."

"Maybe I should ask Cas to lay his hands on you. You know, angel of the lord and everything. I bet he could heal you."

Miriana blushed, once again glad Dean could not see her face.

"I don't think he could help," she said, flustered.

"I'm gonna ask him," Dean said decisively.

"Don't," Miriana barked, pulling away from his chest and holding out a stern finger.

"Alright, I won't," he held up his hand in a gesture of defence. "God, I've never seen anyone get so testy," he muttered under his breath as she leaned back against his chest. She lightly punched him the stomach, and he scrubbed his knuckles against her head, mussing her hair.

At that moment, the sharp ringtone of Deans' mobile cut through the quiet air, making both of them jump. Dean dug around in his leather jacket and flipped the phone open.

"Yeah?" she gathered from the curt way he answered the phone that it was Sam on the other end. Miriana watched his face carefully, noting the tense lines around his eyes.

"Right. Whatever. I'll be there in a minute." He shut the phone with a snap and stood up with a sigh.

"Sam wants to get going," Dean muttered, "He wants to find a new case to work on."

"No worries," Miriana said, "I'm thinking of taking a job myself. A suspected werewolf up in Minnesota. It'll do me good to hunt."

"Yeah," Dean said, "seems we both need to take our minds of things." He rolled his borad shoulders. "Keep in touch."

He ruffled Miriana's hair, then turned and strode off across the park towards the Impala, gleaming in the dappled sunlight. She leaned back heavily against the bench so the wood creaked in protest, and cast her eyes up at the sky, watching the few weak, wispy clouds scudding across the pale blue sky. Now she was alone again, the migraine began to make itself known, so that each time her eyes passed close to the sun, her head throbbed in protest. Needing something to take her mind off the pain, she flipped her phone open and scrolled through her contact list until she found the name of the hunter who had tipped her off about the werewolf. She pressed the phone to her ear, and after a few rings the phone was answered with a sharp, "What?"

"Hello Rufus, its Miriana. About that werewolf..."

***

The weeks passed slowly for Miriana. Tracking down the werewolf had proved far more difficult than expected, so much of her time was spent trawling round the city looking for leads, posing as various different people with various different fake ID's, until she finally found the person she was looking for. He had escaped on the first night of the full moon, his side barely grazed by one of Miriana's silver bullets. The second night, however, she had been much better prepared, and had shot him straight in the chest at point blank range after he had turned and tried to claw open her torso. It had taken her just under a full month for her to complete the job, unusual for somebody as efficient as Miriana. Her headaches were definitely starting to affect her.

She had spoken to Nate and her aunt a few times, and to the Winchesters, but she had spent the last few weeks completely alone, with very little human contact. Miriana was used to being alone, and had always been a solitary person, but it was times like these that she really missed her hunting partner. She and Cristian had always been inseparable, always been there to fight alongside each other and patch up each other's wounds afterwards. She didn't dwell on the sometimes crippling loneliness, but at times it was hard to ignore the nagging feeling.. Even when she was hunting with Sam and Dean, she still felt somewhat alienated, like a bystander watching everything through a frosted window, unable to see everything that was happening. Cristian had been perfect for her, handsome, intelligent, caring and perhaps most important, able to put up with tempestuousness and strange habits. She used to be able to, in her naivety, see marriage and children with him, the possibility for a safer, better life. But much like Sam, this future had been shattered, leaving a dark, uncertain, path in front of her.

She suspected the lack of conversation or real contact with anyone around her was starting to make her a bit crazy. She found that she was talking to herself more than ever and constantly taking out the contents of her bags and rearranging them, obsessively cleaning her weapons. When she slept, she slept fitfully, waking often from disturbing dreams of fire and shadows, Sam laughing with eyes like sickly yellow flames, Dean screaming in hell and angels with their wings burnt to cinders. She woke often covered in sticky, cold sweat.

After yet another night spent in the smoky, dull confines of the local bar nursing a glass of vodka, she wandered back to her motel room, her head the slightest bit fuzzy from the alcohol she had drunk. She was not one for drinking herself into a stupor like Dean was prone to doing, but she had found herself drinking far more than usual. She trudged slowly up to the motel and slid the key into the lock with slightly more difficulty than usual and opened the door into the darkness. She flipped the light on to find a figure a stood in her room.


	27. Spellbound

She dropped her bag with a barely contained scream and leaned back against the door heavily, breathing hard.

"Castiel!" she said, exasperated, clutching at her chest, her heart feeling as if it were trying to burst out of her skin, "What are you trying to do, give me heart failure?"

He was stood in the middle of her room, looking slightly sheepish and holding out his hands as if showing her he had no weapons.

"It wasn't my intention to frighten you," he said quietly, "I was just waiting for you."

"Yeah, and you know who else does that, lurking in dark rooms? Murderers!"

He looked confused, "I'm not a murderer."

"I might need some convincing," she muttered under her breath. She stood up a little straighter against the door, slowing her panicked breathing. She could still feel the adrenalin rushing through her veins. It took of the numbness of the vodka she had drunk somewhat.

"Dean told me you were ill," he said suddenly; she was startled that he had initiated the conversation; usually it was her trying to break the long silences.

She folded her arms across her chest, "Did he?"

"Yes."

"I bloody told him not to!" she barked, and she noticed he looked slightly alarmed, "I don't need any doctors, or any healing or anything. So you can go," she said, gesturing towards the door behind her.

He didn't move. "I didn't come here to heal you," he said quietly, looking slightly taken aback.

"Then why are you here?" it seemed that she was always asking him that, and he never seemed to give her a good answer. "If you want me to save a seal, you can piss off. I'm not in the mood. Do it yourself." She didn't mean to snap as much as she was, but she suspected the alcohol made her harsher than she intended.

"I came to see to see if you were well," he said, and she thought she sensed the very slightest hint of anger in his tone.

"Oh," she felt instantly guilty. She rubbed a hand across her temples, feeling the heat of her anger instantly fading. She let out a long, shaky breath.

"I'm sorry Cas," she said sincerely, meeting his stormy blue eyes, "Alcohol makes me a tad grouchy sometimes."

"You've been drinking?" he asked, tilting his head to the side.

"Only a little, she said defensively, sensing he might be about to reprimand her, "It helps with the headaches."

"So you _are _ill," he said almost triumphantly.

"Not really," she said, "I've always had bad headaches. It's just...they've got worse recently."

"You look exhausted," he said softly, taking a few steps towards her until he was just an arm's reach away. He reached out hesitantly and brushed his fingertips against the sickly purple hollows under her eyes. He heart had left her chest and was thumping somewhere in her throat, the breath stolen from her throat.

"Have you been sleeping?" he asked. She couldn't find her voice. All she could think was that he was still cupping her face, his warm fingers on her skin. He held her transfixed with the depth of his eyes locked on hers.

"Err...not really," her voice came out as little more than a wisp of noise.

He dropped his arm instantly and stepped backwards swiftly, leaving her swaying on her feet.

"I can help with that," he stated, looking completely unfazed by what had just happened, unlike Miriana, who was floundering.

"How?" she questioned, "Are you going to knock me out like you did last time? Because trust me, I could really do without that."

"No," he said, with the tone of an irritated adult talking to a dim witted child, "But I have...ways of calming your mind. A proper night's sleep would surely do you good?"

She shifted from foot to foot, trying to make a quick decision. It sounded so appealing, the possibility of a good night's sleep, free from nightmares, and she trusted him. After all, he had saved her life. She was very aware of him watching her. She turned to face him and nodded.

"Alright," she said, but held her hand out before he could continue speaking, "But I'm getting changed first. I'm not falling asleep in these jeans." He didn't say anything, but simply nodded.

She grabbed a handful of clothes from her bag and dashed into the bathroom, desperate to get out from underneath his gaze. She shut the door and leaned against it, her breathing shallow. Why couldn't she keep her head around him? It was ridiculous that she felt dizzy and lightheaded; she told herself it was just the lack of sleep. She shook her head and turned the cold taps on, resting her forehead against the cool, soothing porcelain of the sink whilst it filled with water. She scrubbed at her eyes so the black eyeliner rolled down her face, leaving black smears under her eyes and leaving rivulets of black tears in the sink. She looked at her face properly for the first time in weeks, noting how deep the shadows under her eyes were, leaving her looking like she was healing from a broken nose. Her cheeks were flushed with hectic spots of pink, the only colour in her drawn face. She ran a hand through her hair, and then quickly dragged her shirt over her head, replacing it with a thin strappy top. She ripped off her leather belt and dropped it to the floor with a thud and yanked off her skinny jeans, leaving them creased on the tiles. She pulled on a pair of baggy black sweatpants, and checking her flushed reflection, she slipped out of the door, relieved to find he was still stood there, patiently.

He turned to look at her, something strange fleeting across his expression, his eyes travelling over her loose clothes. She felt suddenly, painfully awkward and shy, like being close to the boy you fancied in high school.

"So..." she began.

"Lie down," he commanded, answering her unasked question. She walked over to the bed and immediately lay down obediently, settling against the pillows. Her heart was racing, even though she was lying down, her whole body tense like a tightened coil. She focused on the grey ceiling, feeling the mattress sink when he sat beside her, centimetres away. She couldn't meet his eyes. She felt incredibly vulnerable, like he'd stripped something away from her.

"Close your eyes," he murmured softly. Taking a deep breath, she let her eyelids fall shut. The breath hitched in her throat when she felt his hand against her forehead.

It felt as if he had shot her through with a sedative; every muscle in her body uncoiled, muscles she didn't even realize had been so tense. Her eyelids suddenly felt as if there were lead weights tied to them, her mind was filled with a hazy fog that it was impossible to ignore. She tried to say his name, but her mouth couldn't form the words. She tried to speak one last time before the dark crashed over her.

***

Castiel kept his hand on Miriana's forehead until he was completely sure she had fallen asleep. She had definitely been as tired as she'd looked; she was under in matter of seconds, sinking back against the mattress, limp. He carefully took his hand away, but stayed sat beside her on the bed, listening to her deep, even breathing. He glanced towards the end of the bed, noticing a thick fleece blanket folded neatly at the end of it. He reached across and unfolded it, shaking out the creases, and then gently laid it over Miriana's supine form. She stirred, rolling over onto her side and pulling her legs up to her chest and curving her spine so she was wrapped into a tight ball. It seemed like such a childlike thing for someone like Miriana to do. She seemed so much younger without the thick black eyeliner, carefully styled hair and fashionably weathered clothes. She looked more like a little lost teenager when she slept. He stayed completely still next to her for over half an hour, a more rational part of his brain asking him why he hadn't left yet.

She murmured something in her sleep, her brows creasing and her eyes rolling panicked under her lids. Her whole body twitched, and he winced along with her. Her nightmares were much stronger than he had expected if they could overcome the charm he had worked on her so quickly. No wonder she had looked as pale and insubstantial as a ghost, she mustn't have slept more than a few hours a night. Her long pale fingers grabbed a fistful of the blanket, squeezing it tight, crushing it in her hand. She rolled over onto her back, her face turned into the pillow as if trying to shield her face. She whimpered, succumbing to her nightmares, her breathing harsh and staccato. He leaned forward and paced his hand against her forehead again trying to calm her. Her eyelashes fluttered, strips of white showing under their dark fringe. She tensed all over, like she'd been shocked, but he kept his hand still against her clammy skin. After a few seconds, she visibly relaxed, her breathing slowing, her clenched fists uncurling, showing the red crescents where her nails had been cutting into her palm. She went limp again, sinking back into the mattress again.

He stayed with her for a few more hours, but she didn't stir again, except for a few restless murmurs. He was used to spending long periods of time doing very little except thinking, and his absence had as yet failed to be noticed by his superiors.

He knew that what he doing, what he was feeling was very dangerous for the both of them; if they found out about his fixation for a human woman, he would be punished severely, and if they found out it was Miriana, they would no doubt kill her, to get rid of his temptation. She meant nothing to them, as he had already discovered from his conversations with Zachariah, who had never even once called her by her name. She was just an insignificant pawn in their great cosmic game. He knew that he should stop, not just because of his fear of punishment, but because of his fear of what he was feeling. He had been trained throughout all of his two thousand years of existence to eradicate all emotion, to be a heartless and efficient warrior. But Miriana was changing him, slowly but surely. He felt the closest to human whenever he was with her, less like an all powerful agent of God.

She was completely still now, the only movement she made was the steady rise and fall of her chest. His eyes fell to the scar on her chest, visible above the neckline of her top, a thick white line that ran straight down the middle of her chest, just running past where her heart lay. He had noticed the scar before, but he didn't know how she had gotten it, although he knew it was connected with the death of Cristian. He had never felt brave enough to ask her; he had seen how painful the memories of her former lover were, and didn't dare bring them it up himself, despite his curiosity. He hated the idea of upsetting her.

He felt the flutter of wings behind him and the feeling of another presence in the room, and he flew to his feet and whirled around, panicked that Zachariah had found him, but he saw the familiar feminine figure stood watching him with her kind eyes.

"Embriel, I...I was just..." he stuttered.

She held out a placating hand, "You don't have to explain, Castiel," she said softly, walking over to the bed and sitting down beside Miriana where Castiel had been a second ago.

"You were helping her sleep then," Embriel stated. She brushed a slender hand across Miriana's pale forehead, sweeping her dark fringe off her face, "She doesn't look well at all, does she?"

He shook his head, "Dean told me he was worried about her, that she hasn't been sleeping well for months. I just wanted-"

"To help, of course you did," she said softly, "You're always trying to help."

"I could only help her a little," he said, "This illness runs deeper."

"At least you have given her the chance to sleep," she said gently, carefully tucking the rumpled blanket around Miriana's slender frame, "Nothing better than a good night's sleep, you know."

He nodded helplessly. Actually, he didn't know. He'd just have to take her word for it.

"I know what you're feeling, Castiel," she said in a quiet gentle tone, "And I know how confusing they are," she gestured at Miriana, "Humans."

Embriel stood up and stepped towards him, looking him full in the eyes.

"Zachariah's on the war path. He thinks you're not attending to your duties the way you should be. That's why I came to find you, before he does and finds you here. Thankfully for the both of you, he doesn't know about your contact with Miriana."

Castiel rubbed his forehead and looked up at Embriel desperately.

"What should I do?"

Embriel sighed, "I can keep him off your back."

"He'll find out eventually. He always does."

"Then perhaps, for the time being, you should stay away from her," she said softly.

"But-" he protested.

She held out a hand to stop him, "I know it's hard. But keep Zachariah happy for a while, then you can see her without this fear."

He cast a lingering glance at Miriana's figure, curled on the bed. He didn't like the idea of not being able to visit her when he wanted, to see she was still breathing. Her run in with the demon had shown him just how fragile she could be, despite her hard as nails exterior. He didn't think that he would be able to concentrate on his duties through worry.

Embriel touched his arm, "I'll keep my eye on her. I promise."

She lifted her head suddenly, as if she heard someone calling her name.

"We really need to go now, Castiel," she said, "Before Zachariah finds us and smites the whole damn town."

She kept her hand on his arm to ensure he followed her, then stretched her wings and prepared to face Zachariah's onslaught.


	28. One More Girl

_Hi, hope you all enjoy this chapter, and thanks as always to people who've left a reveiw or a favourite. Hope you all had a great new years eve and day! :)_

When Miriana awoke the next day, she felt as if she had just surfaced from a coma she had been so deeply asleep. She glanced at the alarm clock on the bedside table and started in surprise when she saw the time. It was eleven thirty in the morning! She had never slept in that long in her life.

She sat up and stretched, rolling her shoulders and neck. She felt better than she had done in a long time, the ache that had lodged above her eyes had dissipated, and she was thankful she had no memories of the horrific nightmares that usually plagued her. She slumped back against the pillows, a sleepy smile on her face. Running the events of the previous night over in her head; she bolted upright when she remembered who had visited her the night before. How could she forget? He'd been painfully close last night, close enough to have kissed him, enough to make her heart stutter in her chest at the mere memory of it. It was ridiculous, she told herself, to feel the way she did whenever he was around, like a weak legged, infatuated teenager going through her first crush at high school. But no matter how hard she tried to keep calm and controlled around him, all her careful plans collapsed whenever he was in the same room. It didn't help that he kept saving her life and helping her at every available opportunity. She looked down, surprised to find she had been covered with a blanket. It had to have been Castiel. She felt herself smiling inanely at the gesture. She was beginning to think he was more human than he let on.

She shook herself mentally and threw back the covers, determined to not think about him for as long as possible. She set herself a target of a whole day, but realistically she knew he'd be on her mind again within the hour.

She showered and dressed in an oversized grey plaid shirt, weathered skinny jeans and her Doc Martens, and was applying her usual smoky eyeliner, when the loud shock of her ringtone cut through the quiet. She jumped and her eyeliner pencil skidded, leaving her with a black streak trailing from the corner of her eye. Cursing, she flipped open her phone.

"Dean?" she said curtly.

"Ever heard of hello, Miriana?" he asked.

"What do you want, Dean?" she said, exasperated.

"You're in a town called Redscar? In Minnesota right?"

"Yes, why?" she asked, leaning the phone against her shoulder, rifling through the contents of her toiletries bag for her packet of makeup wipes.

"I need you to do me a favour. We're heading there now, but we're a few hours away. I need you to watch a church for me, it should be pretty local. It's called our lady of saints, and it has like...a..." she heard him ask Sam a question, but she couldn't hear the answer.

"A pink stained glass window, and it's built of a kind of...pale blue wood."

"Why I am I watching this place?" she questioned, finally yanking the packet of makeup wipes from underneath a can of hairspray.

"Ruby came to us," Dean said, and she could hear the disgust and anger in his voice, even over the tinny mobile phone reception, "She told us that the demons were after this girl, Anna Milton. She escaped from the nuthouse two days ago."

Miriana pulled a wipe free and scrubbed at the smudge of eyeliner at the corner of her eye, "And why are they after her?"

"We're not sure. But when we went to the hospital she escaped from, they told us that she was convinced demons were everywhere. They were pictures of the seals in her notebook," Dean explained.

"Is she some kind of psychic?" Miriana asked, checking her reflection in the mirror.

"We don't know, but she obviously knows something, Ruby said some main players are after her."

Miriana threw the wipe in the bin beside the table, "So explain to me why I'm watching this church?"

"Her dad was a vicar, and there were pictures of this church all over the place," Dean said, "We're thinking she's religious and scared..."

"So she'll go to a church," Miriana finished, "What about her family?" she asked, knowing all too well what the answer to that question would be.

"Dead," Dean said shortly. Miriana felt a hot flare of anger in her chest.

"I'm on my way to this church now," she said decisively, grabbing her car keys off the table.

***

An hour had passed, and Anna Milton had still not appeared. Dean had given her a brief description of what she looked like, so Miriana kept her eyes opened for a flash of vibrant red hair. She was parked against the pavement directly facing the church, so it would be hard for anyone to slip past her unnoticed. She had gone inside the church at one point, just to check the mystery girl wasn't already sheltering in there, but had found the dusty hall empty and silent. She drummed her fingers agitatedly on the steering wheel, her eyes roving back and forth. It had been easy enough to find the church, and she stared across at the pink stained glass window as Dean had described unpicking the pattern with her eyes.

She still didn't really understand the situation, despite Dean's patchy explanation. She guessed this girl was psychic or had some other sort of power that would make her valuable to the demons; perhaps she was even one of Azazel's special children, like Sam. She also kept her eyes peeled for demons, fully aware that they were likely to know just as much as the Winchesters and Ruby did, and would no doubt go anywhere they could to capture this girl before the hunters got to her.

Another twenty minutes passed, when she saw a flash of movement by the iron gates that lead into the neatly manicured gardens of the church. It looked like a young woman from the distance Miriana was watching from, and she was dressed in plain jeans and a khaki green jacket, but it was the flash of vivid red hair that made her stand out. This had to be Anna Milton.

Miriana quietly got out of the car, surreptitiously checking for the reassuring weight of her gun in her leather jacket. This girl looked harmless enough, but it was unknown to Miriana what exactly her powers were, and she was already apprehensive enough about anything even remotely psychic. She locked her car and followed her quietly across the empty road. Anna fled up the steps towards the white wood doors, opened it a little as possible and slipped into the semi darkness. Miriana was glad she hadn't cast a glance over her shoulder, or else she would have seen her and no doubt panicked. She should quite easily be a demon, and from what Dean had said, she was already terrified and edgy as it was. She followed her into the church, carefully opening the door so it didn't squeak too loudly, and cast her eyes around the empty hall. She caught sight of Anna's flaming red hair; she was perched on a pew on the front row, closest to the simple, unadorned altar. Miriana thought it best to announce herself, rather than just appear out of the half light.

"Anna?" she called.

The girl jumped to her feet and without so much as a look behind her, she fled towards the door that led to a flight of curving stairs behind the wooden pulpit. She flung it back so hard it smacked against the wall with a loud bang, so a chunk of plaster fell from the door frame. Miriana ran to follow her, throwing all her weight against the door, but it was jammed shut. She must have shoved something against it; either that or she had locked it from the other side, which seemed the more likely of the two. She simply didn't look like she would have the strength in her thin arms to push something heavy against the door that quickly. Miriana hammered on the door with her fist and rattled the brass door handle with her other hand, but the rusted dull metal refused to budge.

"Anna?! Anna, look I'm not a demon, Okay? I'm here to help!"

There was silence from behind the door.

"Anna?!" yet again there was silence. Miriana swore loudly and gave the door a savage kick, as if that would miraculously help the situation.

"Don't swear in church, Miriana," came a familiar voice. She whirled round, sliding her gun effortlessly from her jacket, but lowered it instantly when she saw the two broad shouldered figures standing in the patch of pinkish light from the stained glass window.

"She's bloody well legged it up there and locked the door!" Miriana exclaimed, waving her gun in the direction of the ceiling, "Am I that terrifying?"

"Definitely," said Sam and Dean in unison. Dean strode past her, took a step back and slammed his foot into the door. There was a sharp click as the lock broke, splintering great chunks of wood over the stone steps. Sam pulled his gun from his jacket, and he and Miriana followed Dean up the narrow, claustrophobic staircase.

"I thought you said you were hours away?" Miriana hissed.

"We broke a few speed limits," Dean explained. Miriana rolled her eyes.

"Good job we did really," Dean whispered, "Seeming as how you can't keep a situation under control."

Miriana punched Dean's shoulder as they rounded the top of the stairs to reveal a small room with statues and boxes stacked in each corner, and yet another stained glass window, casting its vermillion light over the wooden floor and white washed walls. Sam kept his gun aimed straight, and both he and Miriana noticed the flicker of movement in the shadows around a stained glass window set into a wooden wall at the end of the room.

"Dean," Miriana whispered, flicking her gun towards the end of the hall. She could see the pale, blurred shape of Anna's face behind the thick, warped glass. Sam stuffed his gun in the back of his jeans and Dean hid the shotgun behind his back, but Miriana kept hers out, until both Sam and Dean shot her a dirty look, at which point she promptly slipped back inside her jacket, scowling.

"Anna?" Sam called in a placating voice, "We're not gonna hurt you. We're here to help."

There was no reply. Miriana subtly kept her hand on her gun.

"My name is Sam, this is my brother Dean and our friend, Miriana."

"Sam?" came Anna's voice from behind the window, high pitched with fear, "Not Sam Winchester?"

The three of them exchanged confused looks.

"Yeah."

At this point Anna stepped out from the behind the glass and strode out into the middle of the room, her tan boots clunking against the wooden boards. Hey eyes flickered from Sam to Dean, awe in her eyes, completely ignoring Miriana.

"And you're Dean? The Dean?"

Dean looked positively thrilled at being described in such a way. He raised his eyebrows and smirked, "Well...yeah. The Dean, I guess."

Miriana and Sam both raised their eyes to the ceiling in exasperation.

"It's really you," she said in a quiet voice, walking towards them slowly, "Oh my God!"

She walked even closer, seemingly gaining confidence. Dean's smirk was still playing about his lips slightly.

"The angels talk about you," she said, her eyes still fixed on Dean, "You were in Hell, but Castiel pulled you out, and some of them think you can help save us." She could hear the angels? Who the hell was this girl?

Her wide green eyes moved across to Sam, "And some of them don't like you at all." That didn't come as much of a surprise to Miriana.

"They talk about you all the time lately," she said, her eyes passing across them both, coming to rest on Dean, "I feel like I know you."

She hadn't so much as cast Miriana a second glance. She had the distinct impression that if she dropped dead on the spot the three of them wouldn't notice. She folded her arms across her chest and rolled her eyes. Relegated to a supporting bystander once again.

"So you talk to angels?" Dean asked incredulously.

"Oh no, no way," she said rapidly shaking her head. She reminded Miriana of a bewildered rabbit caught in the headlights of a car. "They probably don't even know I exist, I just kind of...overhear them."

"You overhear them?" Sam asked, raising his eyebrows.

She nodded, "Yeah, they talk, and sometimes I can just...hear them in my head." No wonder she had ended up in a mental hospital.

"Like...right now?" Dean asked.

"Not right this second. But a lot," she explained, "And I can't shut them down, there are so many of them." _Good for you_, Miriana thought bitterly, then stopped herself. _Don't be bitter_, she chastised herself.

"So they lock you up with a case of the crazies when really you were just tuning in to angel radio?" Dean asked.

Anna looked almost relieved, "Yes. Thank you." She said earnestly.

Dean shrugged his shoulders in response.

"Anna, when did the voiced start? Do you remember?" Sam asked. Miriana slumped against one of the wooden pillars. She was thoroughly out of this conversation now.

"I can tell you exactly, September eighteenth."

That date instantly registered in Miriana's mind, she remembered it so vividly, finding Dean alive and well after he had been dragged to his torture in Hell.

"Day I got out of hell," Dean muttered, exchanging a long look with Sam.

"First words I heard, clear as a bell; Dean Winchester is saved," Anna stated.

"What do you think?" Dean asked, glancing at Sam. Miriana felt like hanging from the rafters or doing something outrageous that might just grab their attention. She had an opinion too.

"This is above my pay grade man," Sam replied with a twitch of his broad shoulders.

"Well at least now we know why the demons what you so bad," Dean began. Anna looked confused.

"They get a hold of you and they can hear everything the other side's cooking. You're 1-900 angel," Dean joked with a broad smile.

Anna gave a wide earnest smile in response, her wide eyes lighting up at once.

"Oh Christ," Miriana muttered under her breath. _He's made his move already._

Dean cast her a curious glance, then Anna asked,

"Hey, do you know, are my parents Okay? I didn't go home, I was afraid."

Dean and Sam exchanged a worried glance, then whirled around as a voice behind them said,

"You got the girl? Good lets go," Ruby snapped. Anna let out a panicked scream and stumbled backwards, her eyes panicked.

"Her face!" she cried, looking to Sam and Dean desperately.

"It's okay, she's here to help," said Sam, holding out his hand. Miriana still couldn't believe they were trusting a demon. Humans were hard enough to trust these days, never mind a manipulative demons that had already twisted Sam.

"Don't be so sure," Dean grumbled, and Miriana was inclined to agree with him.

"We have to hurry," Ruby barked.

"Why" Dean snapped aggressively, rounding on Ruby.

"Because a demons coming, big timer," Miriana stood up straight, her had going to her gun, loaded with consecrated rod iron rounds, "We can fight later, Dean."

"Convenient," Dean growled, and Miriana had to admit that she had been thinking the same thing, "Showing up right when we find the girl with some bigwig on your tail!"

Miriana cast a glance at Anna, whose eyes were flickering panicked from one person to the next.

"I didn't bring him here, you did," Ruby snapped.

"What?" barked Dean.

"He followed you from the girl's house. We gotta go now!" Ruby was getting more and more agitated.

Miriana glanced around the room coming to rest on a statue of the Virgin Mary just as Sam's did.

"Dean," they both said in a quietly horrified voice. He whirled round and followed Sam's pointing finger to the statue, which was weeping trails of shockingly crimson blood down the perfect white alabaster of the figure. Miriana couldn't remember ever seeing that before.

"It's too late," Ruby murmured, her dark eyes wide, "He's here."


	29. Devil In a Midnight Mass

_Hey, hope you enjoy this chapter and as always a big thanks to everyone who has left a reveiw of a favourite :) Just to let you know I might be a bit slow updating for the next week or so as I've got some pretty important exams next week (I'm panicking somewhat), but I'll try and update as soon as I can. I managed to put this chapter up today because I had the day of college because of the snow, even though it doesn't even seem that bad in Preston, but I'm not complaining! ;)_

Sam immediately rushed forwards and grabbed hold of Anna, "Come with me," he commanded softly, pulling Anna towards a cupboard in the shadowy corner of the room. The statue continued to silently weep blood, great drops of which splashed on the floorboards, leaving a bloom of red. Miriana pulled out her gun and aimed it straight and unwavering at the wooden door they had come through, stroking the trigger with her finger.

"Okay, stay in there, don't move," she heard Sam telling Anna as he shut the cupboard door carefully over her frightened face. Sam moved to stand in the middle, a little in front of them, his silver flask of holy water out and ready. Miriana kept her gun trained on the door, the rush of adrenalin beginning to kick into her veins.

"No Sam," Ruby admonished, "You gotta pull him right away." Miriana whirled to look at the demon, who was looking up beseechingly at Sam.

"Hold on-" Dean began, looking furious, but Ruby easily cut across him,

"Now's not the time to bellyache about Sam going dark side. He does his thing, he exorcises that demon or we die."

Dean cast a bewildered look at Sam as Miriana watched the battle raging inside him internally, conflict plain in his green eyes. Taking a deep breath as if preparing for a plunge, Sam tucked the holy water flask back in his pocket and squared his shoulders, facing the door.

Suddenly there came a resounding crash, and the door was blown back off its hinges, sharp splinters of wood whistling through the air. A figure appeared in the door frame, dressed in a dark blue suit and pale shirt underneath, his almost white hair slicked back against his scalp, wearing a cruel smirk across his thin mouth. Miriana could sense the evil around him; feel the dark power bubbling behind his vessel's skin. Ruby looked terrified, all the rosy blush gone from her cheek, and Sam looked apprehensive facing off against something so obviously powerful. He stepped smoothly towards them, brushing dust off of his hands and regarding them all with a cold stare. Sam held out his hand in front of him, his brows furrowed in concentration, and Miriana felt a brush of power scrape against her skin. the demon grabbed his throat as if he had something stuck in it, and his eyes flashed a dull, cold white for a brief few seconds, but then he gave a little cough as if clearing his throat and his eyes rolled back down to normality. Sam dropped his hand, looking bewildered, and Miriana tightened her grip on her gun so her knuckles stood out stark white.

"That tickles," the demon said in a nasally voice as he strode towards them, "You don't have the juice to take me on, Sam."

He flicked his spidery hands and Sam's feet left the ground and he was dragged as if by an invisible rope towards the staircase. He smashed through the wooden banister with a splintering crash and tumbled headfirst down the stairs, landing with a heavy thump and a loud curse halfway down the stone steps. Miriana winced, then felt the white hot flare of anger in her chest again and she aimed her gun at Alastair; before her finger so much as brushed the trigger it was ripped from her hands and it clattered useless on the floorboards. A force as hard as an iron bar smashed into her chest, throwing her backwards against the wall, as hard as if she had been hit by a car. She fell into a haphazard pile of boxes and they gave way under her weight, sharp splinters snagging her clothes and ripping savagely at the skin underneath. She struggled to get to her feet, winded, all the breath forced from her lungs by the crushing power of the blow the demon had delivered her. She back ached from where it had slammed into the pile of boxes and she saw stars, having hit her head on the sharp corner of a wooden table nearby. She felt the hot trial of blood snake its way down her face and cheek until she could taste the sickening metal of her own blood in her mouth. She saw Dean lunge towards the demon with Ruby's serrated knife bared, but before he could slam knife into his target, the demon grabbed hold of Dean's wrist easily and fisted the other hand in the collar of Dean's shirt.

"Hello again, Dean," he said in a simpering voice, grinning like a jackal. He slammed Dean hard against one of the wooden pillars, so hard he dropped the knife and it fell to the floor, the blade clanging against the wooden tiles. Miriana struggled to her feet and cast her eyes around the room for Ruby; what the hell was she playing at, cowering whilst the three of them got ripped to shreds. She lunged for the demon, throwing her arms around his neck in a chokehold. They struggled against each other for a few long seconds whilst Dean spluttered on the floor, fumbling for the knife. Miriana let out a scream of frustration as the demon slammed them both backwards into the wall, knocking the breath from Miriana's lungs once again, he arms slipping from around his neck. In the corner of the room she could hear Anna's panicked cries, and saw Ruby with a vice like grip on her slender arm, dragging her forcefully towards the staircase with a look of grim determination on her face.

"Come on Dean, don't you recognize me?" the demon was asking in his grating, nasal voice, "Oh I forgot, I'm wearing a paediatrician." He punched Dean across the mouth, which was already streaming dark blood.

"But we were so close," he continued, as Miriana staggered back to her feet once again, bruised, aching and bleeding, stars dancing in front of her eyes. Dean knew this demon?

"In hell," he finished, delivering yet another blow.

Dean looked back at him, and Miriana saw the faintest hint of realization dawn on his bruised face, "Alastair," he whispered through swollen lips.

Alastair whirled suddenly, just in time for Sam to plunge the knife into his chest; it burst through his vessels skin with a crackling like electricity, but he didn't collapse. Instead he grabbed hold of Sam's hand, still grasping the knife, and hissed,

"You're gonna have to try a lot harder than that, son!"

He flung Sam away from him, but he just managed to keep on his feet, regained his balance and then locked his hand on Miriana's arm and yanked her with him towards the stained glass window. She cast a panicked glance behind her shoulder, to see Alastair struggling to wrench the knife from his chest, apparently in great pain and he savagely twisted and pulled the blade. Sam pulled on her arm painfully hard, and she, Sam and Dean ran full tilt at the stained glass window, throwing themselves through it with a resounding crash that hurt Miriana's ears as she burst through. She felt razor sharp daggers of glass tear through her clothes and she the cold air of the outside world slapped her across the face, the wind ripping through her hear and scraping against her exposed cuts. For a few terrifying seconds she was falling, and then she and the Winchesters slammed into the hard ground, praying she wouldn't crack her head again. She lay, gasping and fighting for breath on the neatly tended grass outside the church, then she felt herself being hauled to her feet by two sets of hands that roughly stood her up as if she were a rag doll.

"Come on," Dean grunted, holding his ribcage gingerly. Yet again she was dragged ruthlessly fast towards the wrought iron gates and practically throw through them, hard enough that she nearly lost her footing and fell face first on the tarmac of the road.

"Get back to your car, and drive quick," Dean spat through a mouthful of blood, "Get back to your motel and call us."

Both he and Sam threw themselves into the Impala and set off so fast the brakes gave a squeal of protest and the wheels kicked up grit from the road. She staggered to her own car and wrenched open the door with her sore, bruised fingers, sliding into the driver's seat and her jamming the keys into the ignition. She cast one last look up at the smashed window they hand burst through, to see Alastair watching her, stroking the blade of Ruby's knife with his fingertips, a cruel frown on his face.


	30. Thunderstruck

_Hey, I managed to update a chapter as the snow gave me two days off college so I got ahead with my revision. I'm still panicking though :/ Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter and thanks as always to anyone who's left a reveiw or favourite, I really appreciate feedback. :)_

***

Miriana poured a large amount of whiskey onto a rag, then took a large swig for herself, and swiped the alcohol rag across the wide cut across her stomach. She hissed with pain as the whiskey burned at her raw, bloody skin. She took another fortifying swig of alcohol, and collapsed backwards against the bed, breathing as if she had just finished running a marathon, cradling the half empty bottle of amber liquid to her chest. It seemed to hurt more and more each time she took a beating recently. She held the ice press to her head again, trying desperately to dull the aching pain in the back of her skull. At least she had managed to clean most of the blood of her wounds.

Her phone rang, and she reached across the bed, her arms impossibly heavy, and flipped it open and pressed it to her ear.

"Dean," she said, her voice cracked.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice as rough as hers.

"Christ, you sound as bad as I feel," she grumbled.

"And how do you feel?"

"Like I just went twenty rounds with a pissed off rhino," she muttered.

"Err...Right," said Dean, "Our motel's the Beaufort, off Park avenue. Come and meet us soon. We're gonna have to figure out a plan to deal with this."

"Oh yeah?" Miriana began, wincing as she sat up and her head throbbed in protest, "And how do you intend to set up this plan without the all time magic knife?"

"Look, we'll deal with that when we get to it," he snapped, although she could sense he was as worried as she was.

"Fine," she bit back, "I'll see you in twenty minutes."

She threw the phone down against the mattress and rubbed her eyes, smudging her eyeliner. She struggled out of her t-shirt and threw it against the wall; there was absolutely no point in trying to get the blood stains out of it. The cool air of the room soothed her bare stomach and the blue bruises that had blossomed across her skin. She closed her eyes and tried to ignore the aching and throbbing of her body in seemingly every muscle. The ice on her head was at least soothing the headache to the point where she could barely feel it. If only she could do that for the rest of her body.

She was lingering on the edge of consciousness, in nothing but her lacy black bra and jeans, when the door banged back and a figure flew in. She let out a scream of alarm, grabbing a blanket to cover herself and a gun from the holdall beside her bed to shoot whoever had burst so suddenly. It was a thin, young blond girl with her pale hair scraped back from her even paler face and she was holding a mop in one hand and a bloodstained knife in the other, which seemed like an odd juxtaposition to Miriana.

"Who the hell are you?" she barked, aiming the gun steadily at the girls head.

"Oh relax sweetie pie," the girl quipped, shutting the door behind her and wiping the knife on a towel by the door.

"Look Miriana, I've just fought my way through a load of demons out there, so you'd better put some clothes on and get your ass in gear."

Miriana lowered the gun a little, her brows furrowed,

"Ruby?" she asked tentatively.

"Give the girl a medal," she snapped, stepping across the room and handing Miriana a slip of paper with a hastily scrawled address scribbled across it.

"Go to this address, quick as you can, and I'll meet you there with the Winchesters."

She glanced up and down Ruby's temporary host,

"And you're possessing little miss maid because..."

"Look, I don't enjoy having this skinny little chick as my vessel, but I didn't have a choice. It was the quickest way to find you."

"Ever heard of mobiles?" she asked, gesturing to hers where it lay on the mattress.

"This way's better, I know you've got the message. Modern technology can be a bitch. Get a move on," she hissed, heading for the door.

Miriana stood up and rifled through her bag for a shirt, stuffing any belongings left scattered on the floor haphazardly in her bag.

"Nice bra by the way," Ruby called over her shoulder as she dashed out of the door.

***

Miriana found the address finally, after over half hour of her car juddering down pot holed, muddy back roads that snaked through barely tamed countryside, squinting through the windscreen. She eventually jerked to a halt outside the run down barn, soft amber light emanating from a small, dirt streaked window next a battered wooden door. She clambered out of the car, her boots sinking into a deep, filthy puddle next to her car. Cursing, she pulled her leg free and picked her way gingerly over to the door, scraping her boot on the jagged wood of the door frame when she reached it. She banged once on the door with her fist, hard enough that the door gave a worryingly loud creak. The door swung open to reveal Ruby stood in the doorway, framed by the soft light from bulb covered with a battered, moth eaten fabric lampshade on a rickety table next to a sagging sofa pushed against the wall.

"That was quick," Ruby said, as Miriana pushed past her into the room. Anna was sat hunched in the middle of the sofa, her hands clenched together; Miriana acknowledged her with a curt nod, she didn't feel that she deserved Miriana's usual polite hello after she had been as good as invisible to her back in the church. She gave a tentative smile, which Miriana ignored. She might as well keep up the queen bitch act.

"Where are the Winchesters?" she asked. Ruby leaned back against the wall, her dark eyes regarding Miriana.

"On their way."

"How did you get away from Alastair?" she asked, her question directed at Ruby, but it was Anna who answered.

"Ruby helped me," she said, smiling at the dark haired demon, "She's not like the other demons I've met."

"Yeah she's an absolute saint," Miriana muttered, leaning back against the wall as far away from Ruby as possible, folding her arms across her chest. Ruby's eyes visibly darkened, and Anna cast a curious glance between the two of them. She knew that Ruby that helped them often, but she still couldn't help thinking that in the long term, they'd all be better off without her. Most especially Sam.

They stopped their staring match when the headlights of a car flashed through the windows and the familiar grumble of the Impala rumbled through the walls. She noticed Anna's eyes light up when she saw Dean's broad shouldered figure, silhouetted against the lights of his car. There was a quiet knock and Ruby moved away from the wall and opened the door to reveal the Winchesters on the other side. Miriana knew it was petty, but she really didn't think she could be bothered to face them, and live through more flirting between Anna and Dean.

"I'm going for some air," she called over her shoulder as she slipped through the back door of the small, what could only be described as a shack. She leaned against the wall, breathing in great lungfuls of cold, clear night air, casting her eyes up at the velvety indigo sky strewn with stars like diamonds against velvet. She brushed her fingertips against the rough texture of the stitches that ran across the bottom of her stomach, wincing at the raw, puckered skin around them. She felt the beginnings of a migraine above her eyes, and the pain in her head was a shock; since the night when Castiel had helped her sleep, she had not experienced any headaches or migraines at all. She remembered suddenly that she had not thanked Castiel for his help, or his concern. She cast her eyes up at the sky, wondering where he was now, and whether or not he was thinking of her. Maybe she should ask for his help with this Anna girl, surely he would help them.

She heard Anna crying, great hitching sobs, and she considered going back in to comfort her, but then she remembered; what could she possibly do to help? To the four people in that room, she was the least important thing right now.

She heard Dean calling her name, and he threw back the door of the shack, looking panicked.

"Get in here now," he commanded. Miriana rolled her eyes,

"Why?"

"Anna says the demons are coming," he said, and Miriana followed him quickly through the door, the lights flickering and dimming. She saw Sam chivvying Anna into the back room and slamming a wooden bar across the door, securing it. Dean handed Miriana a shotgun, which she pressed against her shoulder and stood next to Dean and Sam so the three of them formed a barrier in front of the weathered door leading into the back room where Anna was hidden. Ruby was rifling desperately through Deans' khaki bag. She looked up at the Winchesters, frowning.

"Where's the knife?" she demanded. Dean and Sam exchanged a worried look, and Miriana shook her head in exasperation.

"About that-" Dean began, but Ruby guessed before he could continue.

"You're kidding?!" she exclaimed, looking between the three of them as if someone would suddenly pull it from thin air.

"Hey don't look at me," Dean grumbled, nodding his head towards Sam, who gave Dean a furious look in response.

"Thanks a lot!"

"Great!" snapped Ruby, "Just peachy, impeccable timing guys, really!"

Dean opened his mouth to retort, but before he could, the door gave an ominous creak and the sound of rushing air whistled around the shack. The three of them swung to face it, Miriana raising her shotgun to her shoulder, feeling the first stirrings of fear in her gut. There was a loud bang, and the door was blown back off its hinges as if through an explosion. She felt Dean tense next to her, and she cast him an apprehensive look which he matched. There was silence for a few seconds, and nothing appeared at the doorway; the only thing that could be seen was the skeletal branches of the trees and a view of dark sky. Then Miriana heard a sound that was all too familiar to her, one that she heard several times over the past few months, the soft sound of rushing wings, and Castiel and Uriel strode into the barn.

Miriana gave a sharp intake of breath when she saw him, instantly feeling awkward, like she always did when she was around him. She lowered the shotgun instantly. His sapphire blue eyes swept over them, from Sam and Dean standing tense shoulder to shoulder, to Ruby stood to the side of them, her breathing harsh and panicked, and then his eyes found Miriana, and they lingered over her long enough to make her shiver. Uriel stood beside Castiel, exuding his sense of crushing strength, his furious, dark eyes settled on Ruby.

"Please tell me you're here to help," Dean said in a tense voice, "We've been having demon issues all day."

"I can see that," growled Uriel, his glare still fixed on Ruby, who was watching the angels with dark, terrified eyes.

"You want to explain why you have this stain in the room," he rumbled, the fury barely contained in her voice. She felt a jolt of fear, anxious of his menacing presence. They all looked at each other, but it seemed none of them could answer his question.

"We're here for Anna," said Castiel calmly. Miriana's eyes widened; she studied his face, but it was coolly impassive and as neutral as stone, as usual.

"Here for her, like 'Here for here?'" Dean asked, evidently bewildered.

"Stop talking," barked Uriel. Miriana had the urge to punch him right in his face again, a feeling strong enough to override her fear and confusion.

"Give her to us," he commanded.

"Are you gonna help her?" Sam asked, turning to Castiel. Miriana sincerely hoped that was the reason for their appearance, but from Uriels' anger and Castiels' tense posture, she highly doubted the answer was so pleasing.

"No," Castiel said, his eyes cold, "She has to die."


	31. In for the Kill

_Hi, hope you enjoy this next chapter :) And a huge thank you to everyone to has reveiwed because you've left tons! I only checked my emails last night and there were so many so thank you so much, I really appreciate it! A bug virtual hug to you all :)_

***

Miriana's mind was still reeling when Sam asked the question she would have done if she could find her voice.

"You want Anna? Why?" he asked, bewildered.

"Out of the way," growled Uriel, stepping forwards threateningly.

"Manners," snapped Miriana, unable to help herself. Uriel turned his furious gaze to hers, and she saw Castiel turn his eyes to her, watching her carefully. He took another threatening step towards Miriana.

"Woah, Woah," began Dean, holding hold a placating hand, stepping nearer to Miriana, "Okay I know Anna's wiretapping you angel chats or whatever, but it's no reason to gank her!"

"Don't worry," Uriel hissed, "I'll kill her gentle."Miriana felt sick with anger. She may not have taken to Anna, but there was no way in hell she would ever hand her over to this brute.

"You're some heartless sons of bitches, you know that?" Dean said, casting them both a disgusted look.

"As a matter of fact we are," Castiel sated calmly, "And?"

"She's an innocent girl," Miriana said, furious. Castiel's eyes met hers and she saw them something for a brief second, then the hardness returned.

"She is far from innocent," said Castiel quietly. Miriana shook her head in disgust.

"What the hell does that mean?" Dean asked, his brows furrowed.

"It means, she's worse than this abomination you've been screwing," Uriel growled, gesturing at Ruby "Now give us the girl."

Dean glanced across at Sam, who was stood awkwardly, his shoulders tense. He turned at glanced at Miriana, who had a firm hold on the shotgun, the muscles in her arms stretched taut with tension. She shook her head at Dean, answering his unasked question.

"Sorry, get yourself another one," Dean said, meeting Uriels' dark eyes, squaring his shoulders, "Try J-Date," he quipped, smirking. He just couldn't help himself. She glanced at Castiel, who was staring at the dusty floorboards, seemingly unable to meet her eyes.

"Who's gonna stop us?" Uriel demanded, taking yet another step forwards so the floor creaked ominously, "You three? Or this demon whore?"

He swept forwards in a surprisingly fast movement for someone of his build. He closed his large, chunky hands around Ruby's throat and hurled against the wall so hard she smashed the glass in the window, the silvery shards falling around her head. Castiel remained stood perfectly still in the entrance to the door. Uriel pinned Ruby against the wall with his thickest arm, slamming down hard on her windpipe. He held his hand next to her head, and Miriana saw the panic in her eyes and she cowered away from him. Dean moved from Miriana's side and swung a jagged panel of wood at Uriels' head, but he turned before Dean could make the blow, dropping Ruby so she slumped against the wall and rounding on Dean, catching his wrist and gripping it tight.

He punched Dean across the face with his huge, heavy fist, smashing into skin and bone over and over again. Miriana turned to see Castiel walking calmly and unfailingly towards Sam, who held his hands up in a gesture of surrender.

"Cas, please..." he implored, but he kept walking forward and calmly touched his fingers to Sam's head; his eyes rolled back to show the whites, and his heavy frame crashed onto the floor. Taking a deep breath, Miriana stepped between Castiel and the door, just as he outstretched his hand for the handle of the door.

"Come on, Cas, don't do this," she said, her eyes beseeching, but it seemed to have no effect. His face remained impassive, keeping his all powerful angel of the lord attitude firmly intact. His eyes lost their hardness for the briefest of seconds, then he whispered,

"I'm sorry," and raised his fingers to her forehead. She felt the lightest brush of skin on skin, and she collapsed.

***

Miriana's hearing came back before anything else, and she could hear Sam and Dean's quiet voices, although she couldn't quite get a grasp of what they were saying. They had obviously put her on the couch, because the surface under her back wasn't hard and dusty like the floor, but soft, although she could feel the skeleton of the wooden frame underneath digging into her back. Her eyes felt too heavy to open, so she kept them shut for a few seconds, listening to their conversation.

"...they're gonna be back," Dean was saying, "we gotta get ourselves safe now." She heard Sam's footsteps thudding across the floor and then heard him speaking quietly to Anna and Ruby in the back room.

She felt Dean's rough, callused fingers on her forehead, carefully brushing her fringe away from her skin.

"Miriana?" he asked softly. She decided it might be a good idea to wake up fully now. She blearily opened her eyes, blinking rapidly, Dean's face coming into focus, hovering over hers.

"How are you feeling? Cas really knocked you for six! We thought you were never gonna wake up! I was worried I was gonna have to haul your heavy ass to the car!" Dean said, a wide grin stretched across his face. Miriana glowered at him and sat up tentatively, wincing when her head gave a painful pulse. Dean placed his hand carefully against the small of her back, but she batted him away and swung her legs off the sofa, resting her head in her hands. She was going to murder that angel the next time she saw him. He'd given her another bitch of a migraine.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Dean asked, hovering at her side. She took a deep breath and stood, glad that she didn't collapse straight back onto the sofa.

"I'm fine," she said sincerely, "What happened to the angels?"

"Girl interrupted in there," he said, thumbing over his shoulder in Anna's direction, "Used some sort of blood spell on them, zapped them back to the pearly gates. You should have seen it Miriana. I've never seen anything like it."

This Anna girl was definitely more than she was letting on, or maybe she just didn't know the extent of her powers.

"So what are we doing now?" Miriana asked.

Dean sighed and ran a hand across his jaw, which looked much darker with a layer of ragged stubble than usual.

"Bobby's," he replied, "It's the only safe place close enough, plus he has the panic room."

"Yeah, that'll stop the demons, but what about the angels? And you know as well as I do that if they come for her we can't fight them off. Not unless you've got another magic knife that works on angels." She had a sudden image of facing off against Castiel, and shuddered. She didn't think she could ever hurt him, not even to defend herself.

"Bobby's place is the best place to go," Dean said, "And I hoping our demon friend in there might be able to help us with hiding from Cas and his gorilla look alike."

Sam came out of the back room, supporting a weak looking Anna, her wrist bandaged tightly with torn strips of grey rags which were dyed a deep crimson. Miriana cast her eyes over the wounds, shocked. She must have cut pretty deep to bring up blood that dark. She'd seen enough life threatening injuries to remember the colour of blood from cuts that ran so deep. She'd had enough of them herself. Ruby followed behind Sam, casting Miriana another dark look. The phrase if looks could kill ran through her mind.

They helped Anna into the car, and Sam, Dean and Ruby set off down the tussocky road, followed closely by Miriana in her Mercedes, praising the top of the range suspension and how well it handled the potholes and ditches that felt like craters when she drove over them.

She finally bounced onto the main road leading out to the freeway, and began the long drive to Bobby's.

***

Both Castiel and Uriel had been severely admonished for letting Anna slip away from them so easily. It didn't matter how many times they had tried to explain that she kept some of her old memories from heaven and that she had used the sigil to banish them, and now the Winchesters were completely shielded from sight. Zachariah and the rest of the superior angels didn't seem to accept any of their excuses, as concrete as they were. Uriel was furious at the punishment, but Castiel was just thankful Miriana's name didn't come up once. He had been terrified that Zachariah knew, and was simply biding his time. But it appeared he didn't; Embriel hadn't been lying when she said she would help him keep Miriana virtually unknown to the angels.

The more he thought about it though, and Castiel had time to think a lot, he came to realize that there was nothing between Miriana and himself. He couldn't imagine a young human woman like her wanting to spend time with an ancient creature that struggled to cope with his emotions, someone that had the burden of thousands of years of war and obedience on his shoulders. Surely she would rather spend her time with someone like Sam or Dean, although the thought of her being with somebody else left a sting in his chest.

Knocking her unconscious might have been a mistake; he knew that she would be furious with him the next time she saw him, not only for that but for trying to kill Anna. He had quite clearly seen the anger and confusion in her eyes when he and Uriel had burst into the shack out in the backwoods. He had tried to find her, casting out his mind to find hers in the huge muddle of people down below, as her mind always sang out clearly to him it seemed, but he couldn't locate her. She was being shielded, that much was obvious, her and the Winchesters, Anna and the demon, Ruby. Uriel in particular had been angry at the sight of the hell spawn standing next to the hunters, Uriel disgusted by the idea of a polluted creature working with the Winchesters. Castiel was furious because he simply didn't like the idea of the demon around Miriana.

He wondered how long it would be before the Winchesters realized what Anna truly was, and how they would come to discover it. Anna only had vague memories of her time as an angel in heaven, but he didn't imagine that she would remember who she was without help, perhaps the psychic Pamela. He suspected the Winchesters would have already called her; they weren't the kind of people that waited around. He remembered her vividly, one of the few angels that had stood up to her superiors on a regular basis, ruled by her emotions and not her desire to be obedient. She had been his close friend as well as his superior in their particular corner of heaven, but she had never quite managed to get him as free thinking and radical as her. It had been the source of many arguments between them, most of which he had lost.

He remembered vividly the day she had torn out her grace; it was the one moment that stood out against his two thousand years of memories, apart from the first time he had seen Miriana from heaven, sobbing beside Dean Winchester's freshly dug grave. He couldn't imagine the soul destroying pain Anna had felt when she had ripped such a huge part of herself away from her body and tossed it aside, or the fear she must have felt when fell from heaven, speeding down to earth, wreathed in flames, her wings crumbling away to cinders. It made him shudder just to think about it.

He was pulled from his reverie at that moment by Uriel, who stormed over to him in his usual foul mood, his eyes stormy with anger.

"What are you doing just sitting around?" He demanded, then before Castiel had a chance to answer, "We need to get a move on to find Anna. We can't let her keep roaming around, free."

Castiel mutely got to his feet, feeling that there was no point in conversing with Uriel when he was in such a terrible mood. He wouldn't be surprised to learn that unexpected storms had sprung into existence on earth, the wind and clouds whipped up by Uriels' fury.

As he spread his enormous wings, Uriel muttered, "I just can't wait to kill something."


	32. Truth

_Hi, another chapter up, hope you enjoy it! Thanks as always to anyone who has left a reveiw. No Castiel in this chapter, but Miriana will meet up with him next chapter, promise. ;)_

Ring Bobby. That seemed like Miriana to be the perfect thing to do, but neither of the Winchesters seemed inclined to agree with her. Sam had ummed and aahhed and twitched his broad shoulders for a few minutes, apparently unable to think of something to say, when Dean cut across him with a curt "That's not gonna help, Miriana."

Miriana had ignored both of them and stormed into the kitchen to use Bobby's landline phone, luckily finding the number of his hotel taped to the fridge in the kitchen along with a scribbled 'You break, you buy.' She dialled the number and waited until the tinny ringing finally stopped and a heavily accented voice answered with "Hello, Paradise Beach Hotel, how may I help?" Miriana had another mental image of Bobby in patterned trunks lounging on a towel, his ever present trucker cap on his head, and she shook her head.

"Hi, I'd like to speak to Mr Bobby Singer?"

"May I ask who is calling?"

"Miss Miriana Westchild," Miriana replied.

"Just give me a minute ma'am," said the voice on the other end, and there was a loud clatter as the phone was dropped on the desk. She waited a few minutes, twisting the phone cord around her fingers, listening to various foreign voices shouting in the background.

"This had better be damn good Miriana," Bobby voice growled over the phone line.

"Why, were you just getting down to it with some sexy senoritas?" Miriana said, unable to help herself, grinning.

"Funny," snapped Bobby, "But seriously," he said, a concerned edge coming into his voice, "Are you and the boys OK?"

"Well, sort of," she began, unsure where to start.

"Sort of?" he asked.

"It's the angels," she said, then added, "And the demons. We found this girl, Anna Milton, and it turns out she's actually another one of the feathered warriors. Well, she didn't know until today."

"An angel?" Bobby asked incredulously, "But what's the problem?"

"Both sides want her, Heaven because she disobeyed, apparently, and hell because they're going to torture her to get information. We're stuck between the two."

"So fight back," Bobby said gruffly.

"No way can we fight Heaven and Hell, Bobby, especially not the angels. They could kill us without even trying." She thought again of facing off against Castiel, against the might of his power and shivered.

"I don't know how to help you, Miriana," he said, and she heard a genuine note of fear in his voice.

She sighed and ran a hand through her hair, "It doesn't matter, Bobby. I wasn't really expecting a solution. I just wanted to let you know that if you find our corpses when you get back you'll know what killed us," Miriana said with a weak attempt at laughter.

"Don't you dare joke about that," He growled.

"Really Bobby, I'm sorry I spoiled your holiday," she said as cheerfully as she could manage, feeling faintly hysterical. She had been counting on Bobby; he had always had the answers.

"Miriana-" he began, but she quickly cut across him.

"No, honestly, we'll figure something, Okay, Bobby bye," she said, the words spilling out in a rush as she hung up the phone. She felt guilty about ruining his holiday. She should have known it was a long shot.

She rubbed her temples, feeling the onset of yet another migraine. After the night Castiel had done whatever he had done to her head, the migraines had stayed away, but it seemed now they had returned with a vengeance. She walked back into the sitting room, halfway through the conversation and slumped into the nearest available chair, thoroughly wishing she had told Dean she was busy when he rung her asking her to track down Anna. _I'm an idiot, _she decided.

"So you just forgot that you were God's little power ranger?" Dean asked, whilst Anna paced back and forth across Bobby's threadbare rug.

"The older I got, the longer I was human, yeah," Ann replied.

"I don't think you appreciate how completely screwed we are," Ruby snapped, and by the frown etched on Pamela's face she seemed like she agreed with her.

"Ruby's right," Anna conceded, "Heaven wants me dead."

"And Hell just wants her," Ruby finished "A flesh and blood angel, that you can question, torture that bleeds." The look of Deans' face suggested to Miriana that the implications of that statement hit him with the force of a freight train. She knew full well that he had seen enough torture in the pit to understand exactly what Anna would go through if the demons sank their claws into her. He kept his lips sealed shut about what happened to him in hell, but Miriana saw the truth in his eyes sometimes. And it worried her.

"Sister, you're the Stanley cup. And sooner or later, heaven or hell, they're gonna find you," Ruby said coldly.

Anna looked down at the floor, her arms securely folded across her thin chest. Although Miriana had taken an instant dislike to Anna, she would never have wished this upon her, and truthfully, she would try her hardest to stop either side getting their hands on her, more for San and Deans' sake than anything else.

"I know," she said quietly, "and that's why I'm gonna get it back."

"What?" Dean asked, looking as confused as Miriana felt.

"My grace," Anna replied simply.

"You can do that?" Dean asked incredulously.

"If I can find it," Anna said enthusiastically, although Miriana sensed her enthusiasm was false.

"So what? You're just gonna take some divine bong hit, and shazzam, you're Roma Downey?"

Anna smiled, "Something like that."

"All right," said Dean, "I like this plan. So where's this grace of yours?"

"Lost track," _of course you did, _thought Miriana. She had suspected that things weren't about to get easy for them. It never did.

"I was falling about ten thousand miles at the time," Anna explained.

"Wait, you mean falling, like, literally?" Sam questioned.

"Yes."

"Like the way a human eye can see? Like a comet, maybe, or a meteor?" Like always, Sam came up with the answers, and Dean gave the quips.

"Why do you ask?"

Sam jumped to his feet, "I'm thinking if we look through old newspapers for comets hitting the earth, we might find one around Anna's human birthday," he explained looking hopeful.

Dean stood up and slapped Sam on the shoulder, "Nice plan, Sammy," he said, "I'm gonna go load up the Impala, and then Sammy will take you home."

"I'll do it," Miriana interjected hastily.

"Whatever," called Dean over his shoulder as he left the room, Anna following closely on his heels, whilst Sam loaded up his computer, looking hopeful. That left Pamela and Miriana together.

"So," Pamela began, "I'm guessing you didn't realize what you were getting into when you agreed to help the hardy boys in there."

Miriana gave a snort of derisive laughter, "When do I ever know what I'm getting into? Especially with them two around."

Pamela laughed and stood up straight, "I think I wanna go home now, honey," she said, "All this heaven and hell business kinda freaks me out. I mean, it got my eyes burned out last time, I don't to lose anything else this time."

"Right,"Miriana said with a sigh, "I don't blame you."

Whilst Pamela was shrugging on her leather jacket, Miriana saw the opportunity to ask her something she'd been wanting to for a while.

"Pamela," she began hesitantly, "What...what did he look like? Castiel, I mean." She hoped it wouldn't upset her, asking her to remember the painful moment she lost her sight.

Pamela paused for a moment, "He was...just this light, this impossibly bright light, like looking at the sun up close up. I could see the silhouette of his wings just, like he was trying to shield me from his light, or something," she paused for a second, then shivered, "But his voice...it was beautiful. I can't even describe it."

"Right," Miriana said again. Pamela laughed.

"What?" Miriana asked.

"You like him, huh?" Pamela said with a broad smile across her face.

"No," she answered far too quickly, blushing.

"Miriana, I can tell. I know he's visited you."

"_How_ do you know?" Miriana asked, exasperated.

"I can just tell. It's like his grace has left a mark on you," she explained softly.

"Well, it doesn't matter anyway," Miriana said brusquely, flipping her short dark hair, "Nothing is going to happen."

"Why?" Pamela asked.

"Well, I'm...just me, and he's an angel," she said, "We're not exactly a well matched couple."

"So? Have you never read Twilight?" Pamela asked, "And besides, you're not boring, honey."

Miriana gave a non committal grunt in response, "You're not," Pamela continued, "And why would he keep visiting you if he isn't interested?"

"I..." Miriana began, but couldn't think of anything else to say to this. At that moment, Dean strode into the room with a handful of weapons, Anna trotting along beside him.

"Miriana, after you've dropped Pamela off, I need a favour."

"What?" said Miriana warily, thinking of what often happened when the Winchesters asked for a favour. Usually it involved a hospital and a few broken bones and bruises.

"There's a barn here," said Dean unrolling a map on the table and pointing to a circled area off a long, twisting road, "We're gonna hide out here after we find Anna's grace until we come up with a game plan. We need you to ward the place for us, you know the drill."

Miriana rolled her eyes, "Need me to do it, or can't be arsed to do it yourself?" she asked drily. "And besides," she added, "We have the hex bags."

"Come on, Miriana," Dean whined, "It 's just some extra protection, a precaution, you know. I'm only asking you because you're the best," Dean said with a broad smile and a wink.

"Flattery doesn't work, Dean," she snapped, but she grudgingly took the map off him, studying the location and the best route to get there. "Fine."

"I love you," Dean said, ruffling her short dark hair affectionately.

"Maybe I'll get some beers and set up satellite TV for you," Miriana called as Dean left the room, "Pain in the arse," she grumbled under her breath.

"Nice ass, though," said Pamela as Miriana helped her towards the door.


	33. I Know you by Heart

_Hi everyone, hope you enjoy this chapter and thanks as always to everyone who has left a reveiw or a favourite, I really appreciate it! :)_

A few hours later, after having dropped Pamela off at her home and driving through backwoods and battered side roads for what felt like days looking for the dilapidated barn Dean had pointed out, Miriana had finally finished warding the barn, carefully placing charms and spraying symbols in every available corner. Yawning, she slumped back against the battered, sagging couch shoved against the rotted wood wall. She lay flat on her back, staring up at the ceiling, through which glimpses of the darkening sky could be seen. She wrapped herself deeper in her leather jacket, sheltering against the cool air of early evening. She felt exhausted, all the worry and stress of the past days seemed to have piled on top of her and dragged her down. She felt her eyelids starting to drop, even though she fought to keep them open. As she slipped uncontrollably towards sleep, she closed her fingers around the rough material of the hex bag in her pocket, glad for its protection against the fury of heaven and hell.

When Miriana awoke, she felt like she had only been asleep for a few minutes, even through the sky above had deepened from a soft peach to a powder blue, and the first stars were glinting weakly. She closed her eyes again, trying to get back to sleep, when she heard the faintest movement behind her, the soft rustle of clothes. She sat bolt upright, searching for her gun, until she remembered it was lying in the trunk of her car. She turned to face the intruder, only to find the one person she least expected to see.

"Cas?" she said incredulously.

"Miriana," he said softly.

"What...wh..How did you find me?" she asked, casting her eyes around the room, fumbling in her pocket for the hex bag, "I'm shielded!"

"I haven't," he said calmly, "You're dreaming."

Miriana cast another look around the barn; everything was still exactly the same as it was when she was awake, even the sky outside was the same shade of blue.

"Dreaming?" she repeated. He nodded in reply.

She got to her feet, "Oh, terrific," she snapped, "What, you get inside my head now? That's a complete invasion of privacy you know. In fact, this is like mind rape! It's ridiculous!" she ranted, whilst he stood silently in the corner, "And don't think I've forgotten that you knocked me unconsciousness, and tried to kill Anna for no reason!"

"Not for no reason," he said quietly, a weak attempt at an argument.

"Oh right, yeah because she had the courage to stand up for herself, just because she couldn't stand being emotionless, just because she disagreed! It's not a bad thing, it's called independence, you should try it!"

She saw the hurt flash across her eyes, but she was so angry at that moment, she found it didn't bother her like it usually did. He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut across him,

"And if you think I'm going to tell you where Anna and the Winchesters are, you can forget it. If that's what you invaded my headspace for you might as well leave now. I don't betray friends, especially not Sam and Dean." She folded her arms across her chest to hide her shaking hands. He seemed unable to meet her eyes.

"That's not why I contacted you," he said quietly, "I just...wanted to apologize."

"Apologize!" Miriana said furiously, "What makes you think I want your apology!?"

She cut across him again before he spoke,

"Do you even understand what an apology is? Surely anyone you piss of you can smite, I mean-"

"Miriana!" he cut across her, his deep voice loud enough to cause an echo. She shut up instantly, feeling suddenly frightened. She all too often forgot how powerful he was. He stepped towards her, moving out of the half shadows.

"Please don't be angry with me," he pleaded, and Miriana felt suddenly, intensely guilty when she saw the anguish in his eyes.

"I don't have a choice," he said quietly, "You can't understand what they're like."

"But they're you brothers," she said, her voice instantly softer than before, "Aren't they?"

"We're not a happy family," He said with a half smile. Miriana ran a hand through her hair.

"I'm so sorry Cas, I was just so angry-"

"It doesn't matter," he murmured.

"No really," she stepped forwards and placed her hand on his chest, as if trying to convey her guilt, "I'm sorry."

He nodded, the very slightest smile on his lips. She was suddenly aware that she could feel his heart beating under her hand, surprised by how powerful it was, thrumming through his chest.

"You've got a powerful heart," she said quietly, her hand still resting on his chest.

"My vessel has," he corrected, but Miriana shook her head.

"No way," she said, "Humans don't have heartbeats like this. Must be your mojo," she said with a smile.

He frowned and tilted his head to the side, "Mojo?"

Miriana shook her head, "Never mind," she said gently. She still had her long fingers splayed across his chest, and a part of her brain was screaming _stop touching him!_

He raised his hand and folded it over her hand, interlocking his fingers with hers. His skin was so warm, as if it was fire in his veins instead of blood. She saw his eyes flicker to her lips and back to her eyes again, and there was a look in them that made her breathing hitch in her throat and her heart pound faster, so she could hear it in her ears. He leaned forwards, keeping his blue eyes that exactly matched the colour of the sky outside, locked on hers, her fingers still twisted with his. Her eyes fluttered shut, just as his lips pressed against hers, lighter than the brush of a feather, so light she wasn't even sure if it was happening. She felt her heart stop just for a second when he parted his lips against hers and the taste of him washed over her lips, and she shivered.

Then she jerked awake to the sound of Dean's voice in her ears.

_I'm sure you guys are probably thinking, finally she gets to a kiss! I'm sure you,ve been more than a little frustrated, but Miriana's my character and I intend to make life as difficult for her as possible ;) Plus angsty, tortured romance can be fun sometimes! :)_


	34. Morning After

_Hi, hope you enjoy this chapter, I managed to put it up pretty quickly so I didn't leave you waiting to long. I don't really like this chapter for some reason, but hopefully you'll enjoy it. After the next chapter or so, Miriana starts her own story arc back with her Aunt and Nate (and plenty of Cas don't worry ;), so hopefully the story will pick up a bit then. Anyways, thanks for all the reveiws and favourites, I wish I could give you all a hug. :)_

She bolted upright, breathing like she'd just finished a marathon, a light sheen of cold sweat on her forehead.

"Woah!" said Dean, holding his hands up, "Bad dream, huh?"

"Err...yeah something like that," she said, running a hand through her hair. She glanced around; Sam was stood in the corner, deep in conversation with Ruby, and Anna was leaning against the wall, staring blankly into space, her eyebrows puckered in a slight frown. She gestured at Anna.

"Did she find her magic angel...whatever?" Miriana asked.

"Grace," Dean corrected in a superior tone. Miriana rolled her eyes, "Sorry, Einstein," she muttered.

"And no we didn't," said Dean, heaving a sigh, "Anna said someone's run off with it."

"Someone's stole it? Why?" Miriana questioned, getting to her feet. The room tilted dangerously when she stood up, and she was surprised by how light headed she felt. She staggered a little, and Dean caught her elbow to steady her, looking worried.

"Hey, you okay?" he said, but she pulled her arm away.

"Fine," she said. She had a suspicion that the dream had left her so flustered and dizzy, but she was determined not to let on to the others.

"You were saying?" she continued hastily, trying to ignore the spinning in her head.

"Yeah, anyway, Anna doesn't know who's taken it or why," Dean ran a hand across his chin, "So now we're facing heaven and hell, alone, with absolutely no help whatsoever."

"Terrific," Miriana grumbled, feeling that usual heavy pit of worry settle in her stomach. The air in the barn suddenly felt stifling and constricting.

"I need some air," she muttered, looking away from Dean's worried eyes and heading towards the door of the barn. She passed Sam and Ruby, who both completely ignored her as she walked past, still stood with their heads together with the air of two people plotting something. She didn't like it. As she passed Anna, who was still stood frozen by the door, she lightly patted her arm and gave her as genuine a smile as she could, meeting her wide, doe eyes. She gave a weak smile back, then continued her study of the wall opposite, her eyes distant.

As soon as she stepped outside, she sucked in great deep breaths of the cold clear air and walked over to her car and perched on the bonnet, glancing up at the sky, that had now darkened to the deepest indigo, the moon casting its pale silver light over the clearing the barn stood in, the trees around her gilded in a pale glow. It was peaceful out here, it gave her chance to think and order her thoughts.

The dream; she was still struggling to understand what had happened. Had it been real or not? As much as she wanted it to be true, she couldn't imagine it was. It was just all of her frustrated desires and thoughts pouring out into one, startlingly vivid, realistic dream. The angels couldn't possibly be able to get inside her head; the idea of it was ridiculous. But he'd felt so real, his heartbeat under her hand, the texture of the material of his trench coat under her fingertips and the warmth of his fingers intertwined with hers. And his lips had felt real too, lightly pressed against hers as if he was afraid she might shatter if he pressed any harder. She could still feel them against hers and her heart gave a weak little stutter in response to this thought. There was no way she'd tell him, unless she knew for sure it was real. No, she'd always just had an over reactive imagination and this was just her imagination again. Even if he had come into her dreams to apologize, which she supposed made some sense, at least, there was no way Castiel would get inside her head just to share a kiss, however real it might have felt. Get a grip, she told herself.

But as soon as she made that decisive thought, another flood of questions poured in. He must have guessed she would be angry for his cold attempt to murder Anna and for knocking her unconscious, and she was shielded, protected by Ruby's hex bag, so he wouldn't have just been able to find her like he usually did. Contacting her in her dreams would have been the only way to talk to her. Was it so impossible? She had seen how frightened he was of his ever watchful superiors, and surely he would be safe from their surveillance inside her head. She couldn't imagine that they would be able to see him when he took refuge in her thoughts. She tried to ignore that desperate hope that it had been real, that he wanted her and cared about her the way she cared for him. It was wrong to think about the way she did. He was an angel of God after all.

She heaved a deep sigh and rubbed a hand across her aching temples. She knew that pining for Castiel was just because she was missing Cristian so badly. It had been five years, but the ache of pain that had lodged in her chest the day she awoke from her coma to be told he was dead was still there, but she had grown so used to it she barely felt it anymore. She never let herself think or remember too much, knowing it would only tear open old scars. She knew she shouldn't go after Castiel just because she was lonely, and she knew he wouldn't be interested in her, acting like a love struck teenager. She pushed off the bonnet of her car and turned to walk back into the barn, only to find Anna stood behind her.

"Err..Hi," she said, feeling awkward.

"Hi," Anna said with a small smile.

"Are you okay?" Miriana asked, feeling incredibly stupid as soon as she said it. She sincerely doubted she was okay, after everything she had been through.

"Not bad," she replied, "I just...can't stand the waiting."

"Tell me about it," Miriana said, "It's doing my head in. Not to mention the terrible twosome in there," she gestured to the barn.

Anna gave a musical little laugh, "Right."

Silence fell between them and she saw Anna glance up at the sky, looking apprehensive.

"What's it like? Heaven?"

Anna glanced back at her, her dark green eyes dark.

"Not like you'd think," she said quietly, "Not the way everyone tells you it should be. If you don't do it their way, then you and up like me, cast out and hunted like a criminal."

"Is that why you fell?"

Anna glanced at the ground as if collecting her thoughts, "Yeah, I guess. I just wanted to feel without being punished for it."

"But you're all so powerful and perfect, you never make mistakes or screw things up," Miriana shrugged, "Why would you want to be one of us?"

"Trust me, feeling pain is better than feeling nothing at all," at Miriana's derisive snort, she continued, "It is! You can love, and that makes it worth it all, right?"

"Not when you lose it," Miriana muttered under her breath. Anna tilted her head, and Miriana was reminded forcefully of Castiel.

"So, you know Castiel?" Anna asked, and Miriana had the distinct impression that she was trying to break the long silences.

"Errr...yeah...I've met him a few times." The mention of his name brought the dream flooding back, and she guessed from the slight frown that crossed Anna's face she could hear it in her suddenly uneven voice. She opened her mouth as if to ask another a question, but then Dean appeared at the barn door.

"Sorry to break up the girly gossip," he said loudly, "But we need to talk."

Anna immediately trotted over to where Dean was stood, but Miriana stayed leaning against the side of her car. She didn't feel like returning to the choking tension inside the barn just yet.

"Miriana?" Dean called, gesturing behind him, where she could see Sam's tall, broad shouldered figure pacing back and forth.

"I'll be in soon," she said.

"You okay? You seem a bit..." he tailed off, unsure of what to say.

"I'm completely fine," she said, in as calm a voice as she could manage.

"You always say that," Dean muttered, as he turned back into the barn. She heard a few murmurs from inside, the raised voices. She walked over to the door and pushed it open with a creak and slipped inside to hear Ruby finishing a rant with Dean.

"...Not both. Not at once."

"Err guys," Anna interrupted in a tentative voice, her head tilted to the side, as if she was listening to something, "The angels are talking again."

Everyone immediately swung to face Anna, and Miriana saw both Dean and Sam's shoulders tense as hard as iron.

"What are they saying?" Sam questioned.

"It's weird," Anna said, her head still tilted to one side, frowning, "Like a recording. A loop. It says; Dean Winchester gives us Anna by midnight or..." she paused, leaving the sentence hanging like a dead weight on all of their chests.

"Or what?" Dean demanded his green eyes wide.

Anna turned to look at him, her eyes terrified, "Or we hurl him back to damnation."

Miriana felt the bottom hurtle out of her stomach, leaving her feeling oddly empty. He couldn't go back there. He just couldn't. She saw the look in his eyes when he heard this, saw the terror on his face, an expression that seemed so out of place for the Dean she had grown up with, who thought he was invincible, afraid of nothing and no one.

Sam held his hand out, "Anna, do you know of any weapon that work on an angel?" He asked. Both Dean and Miriana frowned at him. She couldn't imagine the idea of killing an angel, with the possible exception of Uriel. It just seemed wrong somehow.

"To what? To kill them?" Anna asked, her voice quiet, "Nothing we could get to. Not right now."

Miriana tired to ignore the slight twinge of relief this brought; the idea of hurting Cas, even if her own life was in danger, made her feel slightly sick.

"Okay wait," said Dean, in as a rational a voice as he could manage, "I say we call Bobby, get him back from Hedonism-"

Sam cut across him sharply, "Dean, what's he gonna tell us that we don't already know?"

"I don't know but we gotta think of something!" Dean snarled. There was a long pause, and then Dean stormed out of the barn, slamming the door back and disappearing into the moonlit darkness outside. Sam exchanged a glance with Ruby, and the two swept off into another room at the back of the barn, leaving Miriana standing somewhat awkwardly next to Anna.

"Bloody perfect!" Miriana cursed, throwing her hands up in the air. She threw herself down on the battered couch she had been sleeping on before and folded her arms across her chest.

"Err..." said Anna tentatively, in a brave attempt to break the silence, "I think I'll go and see if Dean's alright."

Miriana gave a grunted "Whatever," in response as Anna jumped down from the table she had been sat on and quietly walked towards the door as she was afraid Miriana might rip her head off if her footsteps made too much noise.

After Anna slipped out of the room, Miriana was left alone with her thoughts in the cold air of the barn. She was still exhausted; apparently having vivid dreams did nothing to help a tired mind. She rested her head on her hand and yawned widely, trying to fight her heavy eyelids, but they fluttered shut once more.

***

Castiel had been pacing back and forth in the forest for over an hour, his emotions and thoughts in turmoil. For once he was completely alone, as Uriel had left in a furious rage a few hours, angry about what Castiel wasn't sure, and didn't want to ask. He was thankful for time on his own, away from Uriels' constant cloud of menace.

One thing he was certain about; he couldn't face Miriana again. Not after what he'd done inside her dreams. He was still asking himself why he had done it, but no answer that suited his rational, calculated brain came to mind. It had seemed like the right thing to do at the time, when Miriana's soft citrus perfume and her wide dark eyes had been clouding his head, and the only thing that had felt real was Miriana's slender hand resting over his heart, burning though his clothes to the skin underneath and her lips inches away from his. But looking back with a clear head, he realized it had been a stupid idea. A dangerous idea. He was getting in too deep with her, too caught up in emotions he shouldn't be feeling. He was almost thankful for Dean's interruption. He needed to stop, before his obsession was noticed by Zachariah. He had a sense that Uriel suspected, and he knew how Uriel would deal with it, the way he always did, with violence. He would hurt Miriana.

That thought alone was enough to make him put a stop to whatever he was feeling for her. He had two thousand years of practice in keeping his emotions buried, so he would just have to put it back into effect and keep himself away from her, as hard as it might be. He hoped Miriana would help him with that, hoped that she would push him away instead of seemingly pulling him ever closer to her. It was so hard to ignore her presence, so hard not to track her down out of the thousands of minds on earth. But he wouldn't mention it, not unless it was obvious she knew it had really been him, and not just a figment of her imagination.

He was about to return back to the garrison, when the soft noise of wings brushing through the air alerted him to someone stood behind him. He turned, half expecting to see Zachariah, his face furious with the knowledge of Miriana. But he found a far kinder face, although it was drawn tight with stress.

"Embriel," he sighed with relief.

"Have you not heard?" she asked, stepping towards him over the twisted logs and thick leaf mulch of the forest floor.

He frowned, "Heard what?" he asked.

"The ultimatum they're making Dean Winchester, for Anna?" her voice was layered with stress and worry.

"What ultimatum?"

"If he doesn't give them Anna by morning, they'll throw him back into Hell." She let the statement hover in the air, whilst Castiel struggled to find something to say, his thoughts thrown into confusion.

"But...but they can't do that! Not after everything they told me, how important he is...they..." He had a sudden thought of Miriana. It would break her heart if Dean returned to hell.

"Castiel," she said quietly, "They want you and Uriel to find the Winchesters. They want you to throw him back if he won't hand over Anna. And if he does," she continued slowly, "They want you to kill her," she sounded a little upset, and he saw the slight sheen of tears in her eyes.

"I...I can't...I can't do that," he stuttered desperately, "I won't do it," he said with a little more conviction. Embriel shook her head sadly.

"You don't have a choice," she whispered, "You know the price for disobedience."

He began pacing back and forth again whilst Embriel watched him with sad eyes.

"Zachariah's coming to find you," she said, "I had to warn you what he would ask before he came. You had to know."

He looked across at her with imploring eyes, "What do I do?"

"I don't know."

She froze suddenly, the stretched her huge white wings and vanished suddenly in a wave of ivory feathers. Castiel straightened his back, waiting. Within seconds, the dark suited Zachariah appeared, a smug smile stretched across his face.

"Castiel," he said, "We have a job for you."


	35. More Than a Feeling

_Hi guys, sorry for the slightly late update, i've been in bed with some kind of 'flu all week so I haven't really had chance to update some more. Again I don't really like this chapter, but hopefully it'll pick up soon when Miriana starts her own story arc, but I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. Thanks for all the reveiws and favourites as always I really appreciate it. Im going to try and send out some personal thank you messages soon when college and friends are slightly less manic. On a slightly random note, I loved the new supernatural this week, even though I was watching in on a tiny screen on my laptop (Apparently its coming to english TV soon, I really hope so. I can only take so much squinting at a computer screen.) Anyways, I'm rambling. Hope you enjoy. ;)_

Miriana opened her eyes to the silvery wood ceiling of the barn, listening to the soft whistle of wind outside. She couldn't hear Sam or Dean, but she guessed that they might be asleep.

"Rise and shine sleeping beauty," came a horribly familiar voice from the corner of the room. She sat bolt upright and whirled to face the shadowy corner.

The floor creaked as Uriel shifted his massive frame across the floor, his hulking frame seeming to fill the room right up to the creaking rafters, his malice pervading through the air like a cancer.

"Wow, you angels really like the whole mind invasion thing don't you?" Miriana snapped, getting to her feet and folding her arms across her chest, hoping her overpowering fear of him wouldn't show.

He gave a sinister chuckle, "It's the only way to talk when you and the Winchesters are cowering from us."

"Not cowering," Miriana spat back, "Just stopping you from making a nuisance of yourself."

"I can't imagine Castiel making a nuisance of himself around you," he said, his voice layered with insinuations.

"What the hell does that mean?" Miriana demanded, trying to hide the shake in her voice. She had a strong feeling she knew exactly what he was talking about. It seemed Uriel did too.

"I think you know," he said, taking another step towards her. She found that she was nowhere near as brave when Castiel wasn't around. She knew it was only a dream, but she was still terrified.

"There isn't anything between us," she said, and Uriels' face visibly darkened.

"I see the way you look at him," he growled, "Pathetic."

She swallowed hard, "I don't look at him."

In the blink of an eye he was in front of her, his thick hand closed around her throat, not hard enough to choke her, but hard enough to make her eyes water and breathing difficult.

"Castiel is my brother," he snarled, his face close to hers, close enough to see the anger boiling in his eyes, "And I will not let you taint him. They'll punish him if you continue to poison him. And I will not let that happen."

He flung her hard against the wall, so the wood groaned in response. She slumped on the floor, clutching her winded stomach. Uriel stood over her, his arm raised as if he were about to strike her.

"Carry on chasing him, girl," he growled, "And I'll kill you." His voice was full of quiet menace and fury.

She saw his fist come flying towards her and she held her hands up to shield her face, but milliseconds before the punch connected with her cheek, she bolted upright with a panicked cry. She slumped back against the couch, and then said out loud to no one,

"I am sick of bloody angels!"

She was thankful no one replied; she had a somewhat embarrassing habit of talking to herself out loud. She breathed slowly for a few seconds, her head aching, the adrenalin still running through her veins. She sat up slowly and cast her eyes around the room for Uriels' hulking figure; even though she knew she was awake. She couldn't understand how he knew the way she felt. She realized with a sinking feeling that her emotions must be more obvious than she thought. Ever since Cristians' death, she had always tried so hard not to allow herself to be ruled by her emotions, to keep a calm head. She now realized she hadn't been doing a very good job. She checked her watch. It was five thirty in the morning, and an early morning light was beginning to creep across the sky and through the slats of the wooden roof. She fumbled around the material of the couch looking for her hex bag, wanting the comfort of the rough material and the protection it stood for. It was gone.

She knelt down next to the couch and ran her hands along the floorboards and under the sofa, but all she found was several years' worth of dust on her fingertips. She was about to call Sam's name when she saw a flare of cold blue light outside the window and the acrid smell of smoke reached her nose.

She pushed open the door of the barn and stepped out into the cool, dewy air of the early morning. She listened for a few seconds, but there was nothing but the sound of the first few birds singing to each other. Then she heard a sharp click and the rough of Dean's voice as he cursed. She turned the corner of the barn to see Dean crouched low on the ground, holding a rough brown bag in one hand and a lighter in the other. He touched the vivid orange flame of the lighter to the bag, and it burst into bright turquoise flames, disintegrating into smouldering pieces and fluttering to the floor. Miriana mind reeled for a second; he was burning hex bags. She watched the molten shower of blue for a few more seconds, then she snapped back to her senses.

"What the hell are you doing?!"

***

Dean whirled around, jumping to his feet, almost dropping the lighter in his shock. He held his hands out in a gesture of defence.

"They'll find us!" she hissed, dropping her voice, aware that the others might be sleeping inside.

"Miriana," Dean said desperately, and there was something in his tone that made all the confusion and every angry thought leave her head. There was a tortured look in his eyes, a guilt and fear that made her heart ache for him.

"Dean," she whispered, "What...what..." she gestured helplessly at the lighter and the pale blue gleam of the still glowing hex bag, crumbling on the hard ground.

"Don't hate me," he said beseechingly, and Miriana was horrified to see the sheen of tears in his eyes, threatening to overflow.

"I'll never hate you, Dean," she said quietly, "Just tell me what's happening."

"Uriel found me," Dean said, "In my head. He has Anna's grace. He knew I wouldn't give myself up for Anna, not after we..." he tailed off, and Miriana immediately knew what was talking about.

"You slept with her?" she asked, struggling to keep her voice down. He nodded, his tortured eyes focused on the ground, unable to meet Miriana's.

"He gave me another ultimatum," his voice dropped to a whisper, "Give them Anna...or..." his voice broke on the last syllable, but Miriana guessed what the ultimatum was.

"Or they kill Sam," she finished in a horrified whisper. Dean agreed with a small choked noise. She couldn't believe the angels would threaten such a thing. She thought the problems with her and Cas were over, but now he was about to commit another cold, heartless act.

"Oh Dean," she said softly, and threw her arms around his neck. She felt him give a little sob, and she felt his tears dampening her neck. She patted his back, breathing in the familiar smell of his worn leather jacket and his aftershave. It felt like an odd role reversal; all throughout the time they had grown up, it was him holding her while she cried. She hated seeing Dean so broken down, so destroyed.

"It'll be alright," she told him, but they both knew the truth. Things were rarely ever okay.

***

The hours passed horrendously for Miriana, waiting for the inevitable. She, Sam, Dean and a weary looking Anna were all gathered in the barn, none of them talking, just staring at the dusty ground. Ruby was nowhere to be found, and that seemed to make Sam very tense. Miriana hadn't the heart to tell Sam or Anna about the deal Dean had made. It was up to him to tell them. Sam was pacing back and forth, and the sound of his boots beating out a rhythm on the floorboards was oddly comforting. Every now and then, Dean would catch her eye, and she would see that flash of desperation and guilt in his eyes, so painful it made Miriana's heart twist in her chest.

Dean took a long swig of whisky from a silver flask, wincing as the burning amber liquid slid down his throat. Sam stopped pacing and turned to Miriana and Dean.

"I don't know, guys. Where's Ruby?"

"Hey she's your hell buddy," Dean grumbled, taking yet another swig of alcohol.

"It's a little early for that isn't it?" asked Anna in a slightly mocking voice.

Dean shrugged his broad shoulders, "Hey, its 2am somewhere," he said, keeping his eyes on the ground.

Anna frowned, and Miriana just heard her say quietly, "You okay?"

"Yeah of course," Dean said in as convincing a voice as he could manage. His eyes met Miriana's over Anna's shoulder, and she saw the pain in them resurface.

At that moment, the door to the barn blew back on its hinges and slammed into the wall, causing Miriana to start and instinctively reach for her gun, adrenalin already thundering through her veins. She felt her heart do the usual stutter when she saw the familiar tan trench coat and dark hair.

Both Castiel and Uriel swept in with a gust of cold air, the doors slamming shut behind them. Miriana, Anna and the Winchesters all stood together, forming a line, shoulder to shoulder. They had waited longer than Miriana had thought; she had expected them to flash into existence the second the last hex bag burst into flames. Sam stepped in front of Anna, holding his arm across her chest as if that would protect her. Castiel's eyes slid over the brothers and Anna, and lingered over Miriana a little longer, but the look in his eyes was unfathomable.

"Hello Anna," he said softly, "It's good to see you."

"H-how?" Sam stuttered, totally bewildered, "How did you find us?"

The angels said nothing, but both of their eyes turned to Dean, whose jaw was tense, his eyes once again fixed on the ground. Sam turned to look at him, hurt and bewilderment in his eyes. Miriana saw realization dawn on Anna's face.

"Dean?" Sam said, his voice layered with stress. He said nothing to Sam, but instead turned to look at Anna, his face tortured.

"I'm sorry," he whispered between his lips.

"Why?" Sam barked, and Miriana had to fight the urge to blurt the truth out. From the look of fury on Anna's face as she turned her eyes back to the angels, she was about to answer him.

She took a deep breath, "Because they gave him a choice," she said quietly, turning to Sam, "They either kill me, or kill you."

Sam looked up at Miriana as if looking for confirmation. Miriana nodded slowly, feeling the pricking of tears behind her eyes. Castiel's eyes were fixed on the ground, even every pair of eyes were trained on him. It was difficult for Miriana not to storm across the room and punch him as hard as she could around the face. Any pleasant memories of the kiss in her dreams were now tainted with fury.

"I know how their minds work," said Anna, disgust seething quietly in her voice. Castiel flicked his gaze to Miriana but she pointedly turned her eyes away, at that moment not caring how much it hurt him. Anna placed her thin pale hand on Dean's arm and stood up on her tiptoes, lightly brushing her lips against his. Miriana was reminded forcefully of her dream, and even though she could feel Castiel's gaze boring into her, she deliberately kept her gaze trained on the ground. Anna pulled away, and softly whispered, "You did the best you could. I forgive you."

She stepped forward and squared her slender shoulders, meeting Uriel and Castiel full in the eyes.

"Okay, no more tricks," she stated in a clear voice, "No more running. I'm ready."

***

"I'm sorry," Cas said quietly.

Anna shook her head, "No you're not," she said coldly, "Not really. You don't know the feeling."

"Still we have a history. It's just..." he tailed off, apparently at a loss for words.

"Orders are orders," Anna snapped, cutting across him sharply, "I know. Just make it quick."

Miriana felt sick to her stomach; once glance at Dean told her he was feeling exactly the same way. Miriana turned her eyes to the ground again. She didn't want to see Anna die.

"Don't you touch a hair on that poor girl's head," came a sneering nasally voice from behind them. Miriana whirled around and swore loudly when she saw the slick pale hair and pale blue flinty eyes. At the sight of Alastair Miriana felt a twinge of fear race up her spine. Behind him stood two grunt demons, both with nondescript faces, just two random people from the street, and between them slumped Ruby, a sheen of sweat on her forehead and a dark band of crimson blood staining her tee shirt. She heard Sam swear quietly under his breath. Dean glanced between the angels and the demons, stood at opposite ends of the room, his eyes filled with panic. Miriana glanced at the angels, and the look of pure hatred on their faces made Miriana shiver with terror.

Uriel stepped forward, thundering across the floor, and Miriana felt Sam's hand gripping her arm and pulling her into the corner of the room, out of the line of fire.

"How dare you come in this room," Uriel growled, his hulking figure taking a few more threatening steps towards the cluster of demons, "You pussing sore."

The two demons threw Ruby to the floor as if she were no more than an empty beer can; she thudded into the floor and crawled through the dust and scattered hay and cowered in the corner like a caged animal, her dark eyes full of pain. Miriana felt Sam twitch next to her, as if he was about to run to her.

"Nam calling?" said Alastair in a mocking tone, whilst the two demons behind him cracked their knuckles and stepped forwards, faces dark, "That hurt my feelings. You sanctimonious, fanatical prick."

"Turn around and walk away now," demanded Castiel, his blue eyes stormy with a mix of disgust and rage.

"Sure," said Alastair with a smirk, "Just give us the girl. We'll make sure she gets punished good and proper.

"You know who we are and what we will do," snarled Castiel, his voice full of quiet power, brimming just under the surface. Miriana thought she saw the very slightest flicker of fear cross Alastair features. Castiel stepped forwards so he was stood shoulder to shoulder with Uriel, "I won't say it again. Leave now, or we lay you to waste." Miriana now had new appreciation for the term 'to have the fear of God put in you.'

"I think I'll take my chances," Alastair sneered.

There was a long tense silence that seemed to stretch on forever, with neither heaven nor hell making a move. One of Alastair's demons rushed forwards suddenly, as if hoping he could catch the angels of guard, but Uriel lunged forward and slammed the demon into a wooden pillar with a splintering crash that bent the pillar in half. Miriana saw Castiel move towards Alastair out of the corner of her eye. He punched the demon hard across the mouth, so hard his head snapped backwards. He splayed his hand out flat on Alastair's forehead and waited, as if hoping something miraculous would happen. Alastair merely grinned.

"Sorry kiddo. Why don't you go run to daddy?" He slammed his palm hard into Castiel's chest so e lost his balance and thudded into the dusty floor. Miriana moved to help him, but Sam tightened his grip on her arm and pulled her back down. She struggled harder against Sam's hold when Alastair clamped his hand around Castiel's throat in a chokehold, and started chanting Latin she had never heard before. Why was no one helping him?

It seemed Dean was thinking the same thing, for at that moment he grabbed hold of a lead pipe that was lying discarded on the floor where the Winchesters and Miriana were crouched away from the fight and smashed it into the back of Alastair's head with the sickening sound of a skull cracking. Alastair dropped Castiel and rounded on Dean, lightly rubbing the back of his head as if Dean had done no more than tapped him with his fist.

"Dean, Dean, Dean," he chastised, "I am so disappointed. You had such...promise."

He held his hand out, and Miriana instantly felt as if he had wrapped a rope around her throat and was tightening it, so tight she couldn't breathe. Her windpipe felt like it was being crushed, collapsing inward, and she crashed into the floor clutching her throat. A second later, she felt the floor vibrate as Sam and Dean gave out and collapsed next to her, the both of them doubled over, scrabbling frantically at their throats.

Suddenly, she felt the constricting weight lifted from her throat, and she sucked huge gulps of air down her throat. She looked up with streaming eyes and saw Anna stood in the middle of the room, a steady cloud of bright white light coiling off the floor and into her mouth. She buckled over onto the floor, clutching her stomach, whilst Uriel watched behind her, his eyes blazing with fury.

"Shut your eyes," she choked out, clambering unsteadily to her feet, a strange white glow emanating from behind her skin. It took Miriana only a second to realize what it was. Anna's grace. "Shut your eyes!"

Miriana saw Sam and Dean throw an arm over their eyes, and she just managed to lift her hands and press them to her eyelids, sealing them tight shut as the white hot light grew in intensity. She could feel the same wave of power that Castiel had released the night he saved her from the demon washing over her skin, so strong it hurt. She felt certain her skin would blister and peel off at any second.

Anna let out a long, tortured scream that scraped against Miriana's ears, then she fell quiet, and there was a brief second of total silence in the barn. In the next second the barn was filled with noise that Miriana had only ever experienced when she had been stood near an explosion, and a gust of wind that threatened to knock her over thundered through the room, twisting her hair into a tangle of knots. Everything was suddenly quiet again, but Miriana kept her eyes sealed shut, not daring to open them.

She felt Dean tug at her arm and she slowly opened her eyes. There was no sign of Anna or Alastair, only Uriel and Castiel, who got slowly to his feet, clothes rumpled, and Ruby, who was pressing her hands into her bloody stomach and scrabbling to get to her feet in the corner. Dean pulled Miriana to her feet and kept his hand on the small of her back, almost protectively. He leaned down and picked up Ruby's knife, lying on the floor where Alastair had dropped it.

"What're you waiting for?" Dean asked, "Aren't you gonna go and get Anna? Unless of course you're, scared."

Uriel stepped forward, his furious eyes fixed on Dean's face, "This isn't over," he growled. Castiel placed a restraining hand on his shoulder, and he instantly back down. His blue eyes passed over the Winchesters, coming to a stop on Miriana, his eyes softening the second he met hers. She fought the urge to look away, hoping that he could read the hurt in her eyes, before he and Uriel vanished from sight.


	36. The Other Side of the Door

_Hi, hope you all enjoy this chapter. This is the start of Miriana's own story arc, hopefully you'll like the deviation from the show. A big thanks and hugs as always to everyone who's left a reveiw or a favourite. Thanks everyone :)_

It had been almost three weeks since the showdown between the angels and the demons and Anna's disappearance into a burst of blindingly bright white light. Miriana had hunted down, salted and burned two spirits in Connecticut, happy to have something to take her mind of heaven and hell, the impending apocalypse and the constant threat of demons. It was comforting to return to a simple hunt; it reminded her of times spent with Sam and Dean, travelling around in the back of the Impala, listening to Deans' battered classic rock tapes whilst he and Sam bickered constantly. Things were far more complicated than that now.

She hadn't seen Castiel since the fight in the barn, not that she was counting the days and watching and listening for a sign of him constantly or anything. She was still furious, and the time she hadn't seen him hadn't done anything to lessen her anger. But she still missed him. His absence left a strange pit in her stomach, as much as she tried to ignore it. She hated being so desperate to see another person, hated being so dependent on just catching a glimpse of someone to be happy. She had seriously considered calling to him a few times, but she always changed her mind just as she opened her mouth to speak.

She spent most of her nights at a local bar, drinking down their speciality cocktails and talking to the bartenders who were surprisingly friendly for such a small town. Usually when Miriana spoke with English accent in a bar she was greeted with suspicious looks and several of the locals reaching for their shotguns. It made a nice chance to be welcomed.

After another night spent in the smoky, music filled interior of the bar, she set off walking back to the motel she was staying, a few minutes down the road. It wasn't quite dark yet; the sun was still hovering above the horizon, casting its rich amber light across the busy, wood lined street. Miriana liked this part of Connecticut, as it reminded her so much of the town she grew up in with her Aunt in Maine with its abundance of old, gnarled trees, log cabins and the clean smell of the cool autumnal air. Even the motel she was staying felt homey, an emotion she rarely experienced in the impersonal motel rooms scattered across America. She walked into the car park of the motel, and stopped dead near her car when she saw the all too familiar figure stood outside the door to her room.

"Miriana," he said softly. Her heart gave its usual stutter in her chest when he spoke. The cold air suddenly felt much warmer than it had done a few seconds ago. It didn't take very long for the anger she had buried to resurface.

"What the hell do you want?" she snapped, "Come to knock me unconscious again? Or is there someone else here you want to murder?"

He didn't say anything, just surveyed her with his eyes, a dark sapphire blue in the faded half light of the evening.

"You know what? Just..." she couldn't think of anything else to say, just swept past, pushing him aside in order to get to her door. She jammed the key into the lock with a loud scraping of metal on metal. His hand closed on hers over the handle.

"Miriana just...please listen," he begged softly. She turned her head to look at him, stunned into speechlessness by his sudden closeness.

"I'm sorry," he said gently. There was absolutely no denying his sincerity. She could read everything she needed to know in his eyes. She softened for a moment, but then she remembered the look of pure despair on Deans' face when she'd found him burning the hex bags, his face in the barn whilst he was waiting for Anna to die, and her anger flooded back even stronger than before.

"I don't want your apology," she hissed, jerking her hand free of his, slapping away the warmth of his fingers over hers, "Do you have any idea what you did to Dean? To Anna? Do you even care?"

"Of course I care," he said, his voice saturated with pain, "And I'm sorry. But I didn't have-"

"A choice?" she cut across his sharply, "Of course you have a choice. You're just too afraid to take it."

She reached for the door handle again she yanked the door back hard, forcing Cas to dodge out of the way as she swept inside. She half expected him to follow her, but he remained outside as she slammed the door, hard enough to rattle the wood in the frame. She threw herself down on the bed, breathing heavily, the anger beginning to leave her system, almost as quickly as it had arrived. She sucked a great breath into her lungs and headed for the door, intending to apologize for her sudden burst of anger, imagining him still waiting forlornly outside the door. Just as she placed her hand on the door handle she heard the soft brushing of feathers brushing over each other, and she threw to door open to find nothing but the empty pavement and car park behind it with no trench coat clad angel. She sighed and rubbed her aching temples.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly to the air, feeling suddenly achingly lonely.

***

He had known it would be a mistake to and reconcile with Miriana. He'd seen the razor sharp hurt in her eyes back at the barn, sensed her anger. But he felt he needed to try at least. But it left him feeling worse than he had done before. He rarely ever felt physical pain; there too few things that were powerful enough to harm an angel, but her words and the anger burning in her dark eyes had been like a blade against his skin. He couldn't ignore the truth of her words though. She was right; he was frightened of making his own choices. He was so used to following orders obediently and unquestioningly that the idea of determining his own path terrified him. He had also seen and knew all too well the high price for disobedience, and been asked to carry out the punishment a few times. But he couldn't seem to get Miriana to understand why he was so afraid, as desperately as he tried.

He had returned to the motel a little while after he had fled so quickly away from Miriana and her fury. He had been stood outside for over an hour, wrestling with his indecision over whether to speak to her again. Maybe she would have calmed down. Night had fallen almost completely now, the sky a deep powdery blue, the light of the first few stars faded out by the orange glow of the streetlamps. He crossed the car park silently, and reached the door to Miriana's room. He took a deep breath, then knocked on the door. He waited, but there was no reply, no sound of footsteps coming to answer the door. He knocked again, but again he was met with silence. He had sudden visions of her lying in a pool of blood, finally caught by the demon that had been chasing her for so long. He reached for the door handle and with a flick of her fingers the lock sprung open with a sharp click. He gently pushed the door open to the semi darkness of her room.

He immediately cursed his paranoia when he saw her stretched out on the bed, deeply asleep. He moved over to the bed, carefully sidestepping the bags scattered on the floor. He had the feeling that she hadn't meant to fall asleep; the small light was still casting its glow over the room, and she was still fully clothed, still wearing her jeans and even her boots. A huge dusty book of demonic lore was open on the sheets next to her, her slender fingers sill curled over the page she had been reading. He gently disentangled her hand from the book and placed it carefully on the cabinet next to the bed. She mumbled something unintelligible in her sleep and rolled over towards him, her hand just inches away from his, close enough that he could feel the faint warmth of her skin. He brushed a few stray strands of her short dark hair away from her forehead lightly, hoping he wouldn't wake her up, but she didn't even stir. Feeling a little braver, he leaned down hesitantly and pressed his lips very softly against her cheek, breathing in the clean smell of the cotton sheets mixed with her familiar citrus perfume.

At that moment he heard a rustle right outside the door and smelt the sharp acrid stink of sulphur, invading down his nose and catching in his throat. Demon. It had to be. He shot to the door and flung it open, casting his eyes over the car park, searching the shadows away from the orange pools of light the streetlamps cast for any flicker of movement, but there was nothing. He waited a few long seconds, ears carefully tuned to the quiet of the car park, but he could hear nothing except the occasional sound of a car on the road. Ensuring he locked Miriana's door behind him with a twist of his fingers, he took a few more steps forward, feeling the fight instinct beginning to kick into his system. He caught a flash of movement at the end of the road; saw a dark figure half running to a parked car hidden behind a copse of trees. He increased his pace, but the figure reached the car and threw themselves inside, the lights instantly bursting into life and casting their harsh red glow over the trunks. The tyres squealed as the car shot out of its parking space, narrowly avoiding a tall tangle of thorny bushes and spinning the car around haphazardly onto the road. He watched its taillights fade into the darkness of the road until they became a dim glow, tasting the bitter tang of the sulphur in the cold air.

****

Back in Maine, Nate was downing his fourth beer and wondering how long it would be before the cute waitress behind the bar would notice him eyeing her.

"Dude, you've got no chance," said his friend Jack with a punch to his arm, "She's way too hot for you."

"Whatever, man," he muttered, swallowing the last of his beer.

"Talking of hot girls," Jack began conversationally, tracing the rim of his beer glass with a fingernail, "You wouldn't mind introducing me to your cousin Miriana. I mean, if you don't mind me saying, she's pretty fine."

"I do mind you saying," Nate grumbled, glowering. The barmaid ignoring him all night had put him in a bad mood.

Jack held up his hands, "I'm just saying, you know I wouldn't mind-"

"Dude, seriously, don't finish that sentence," Nate hastily interjected, "She's like my sister, dude. And I'm not setting her up with a pervert like you. She's family you know."

Jack said nothing, just gave a slow smile that made Nate realize he didn't want to think about what was going on in his head.

"Oh crap, talking of family," Nate said, glancing at the clock and grabbing his leather jacket and shrugging it on, "If I don't get back now, my aunt is gonna skin me alive and use me as a wall hanging."

Jack sniggered, "Must be so nice to be an independent man and not have to worry about annoying relatives."

"Shut up, dude," he snapped, slapping his open palm around the back of his head, "See you later."

"Have fun," Jack called mockingly over his shoulder, heading for a group of loud girls by the bar, looking determined.

Nate shivered when he stepped outside and the freezing air bit at his exposed skin, numbing it instantly. He rubbed his hands together and set off walking down the long dark road back to the house. It was deadly silent, no distant sound of cars on the main road, no drunken shouts from the bar, not even the faint stirrings of a breeze. Nate pulled his jacket tighter around him and lengthened his stride, feeling a sudden desperation to get home out of the somehow claustrophobic darkness and silence.

He heard footsteps behind him, the rustling of leaves scraping against each other. He stopped dead in his tracks and spun around, confronting the shadows, his breathing ragged, like an animal cornered by a predator.

"Hello?" he shouted, his voice echoing slightly in the air. No response. He hadn't really been expecting one. Shaking his head and cursing his stupidity, he turned around and carried on walking, comforted by the sound of his footsteps on the tarmac. He heard the rustle behind him again and whirled around, this time angry.

"Look, Jack if that's you, it's really not funny. It's kind of childish, dude," he shouted, feeling incredibly stupid reprimanding thin air. There was no reply from the blackness in front of him, just shifting shadows, dark and dense through the lack of light in the trees.

He felt the first tinges of true fear now, and he reached for his silver knife in his pocket, running his fingers along the cold, reassuringly sharp edge of the metal. It was only a small knife, but it seemed virtually every supernatural thing he had ever faced had some kind of aversion to silver. He closed his fingers around the smooth wooden hilt, preparing to draw it from his pocket if something suddenly sprung from the shadows.

He felt the figure behind him before he heard or saw it, but his reflexes just weren't quick enough. He swung the knife blindly through the air, connecting with nothing as the arms closed around his chest, tightening and constricting his breathing. He felt a sharp, stabbing pain in the back of his head, and everything was plunged into darkness.


	37. The Sound of Silence

_Hi, sorry I haven't updated sooner, but college has been pretty busy recently. I'm off for a week now though, so I'll have plenty of time to write some more and update more regularly. I really need to send some thank you's to people who have left reveiws and stuff, so I'll get round to it this week (fingers crossed) Anyway for now I'll give you all a collective hug and thank you. I hope you're enjoying Miriana's deviation from the story, hopefully Cas will be in it next chapter. Hope you all enjoy this chapter! P.S on a completely seperate note, supernatural was amazing this week! Its finally on british TV, but i'm still watching it on the internet, I'm just too impatient to wait! :)_

Miriana was awoken rather rudely at five in the morning by the shrill ringtone of her mobile cutting through the quiet of her room. She groaned and rolled over towards the bedside cabinet, blindly fumbling across the wood until her searching fingers closed over her phone. She rolled onto her back and flipped her phone open, instantly shutting off the racket of the ringtone.

"Yeah?" she mumbled into the phone, her voice crackling with sleep.

"Miriana?" her aunts voice was panicked on the other and of the phone. Miriana instantly sat up, sensing the concern in her aunts' tone.

"What is it?" she asked, feeling anxiety begin to settle in the pit of her stomach.

"It's Nate. He...I think he's gone missing."

Miriana leaned back against the headboard and rubbed her temples, "What do you mean?"

"He hasn't been home in days."

"That's not so unusual," Miriana said.

"He's not answering his phone," she sounded close to tears, "None of his friends have seen him. And..." she paused, leaving an ominous silence on the other end of the line.

"What?" questioned Miriana, feeling sick.

"There have been omens and signs all over town for the last week or so. I think it's the demon."

Miriana had to swallow hard before she could speak again, "The demon?"

"The one that killed Cristian. I have his name now. Reuben. He's been in town all week. Miriana, what if he has Nate?"

Miriana took a deep breath and tried to collect her thoughts, "We just need to...track his phone. He has GPS right?"

"I...I think so," her aunt said, voice quavering.

"I'll ring the phone company, they'll track his phone, and..." she stopped, fighting back the sudden sting of tears in her eyes, "We'll go from there. You try and track the demon, now you have his name it should be easy."

"Right," her voice was little more than a whisper, a slight brush of static.

"It's going to be alright, Okay?" Miriana said, surprised by how strong her voice sounded.

"Okay."

Miriana hung up, and she instantly felt the despair and panic overtake her. She climbed of the bed, wincing as she saw the wrinkled state of her slept in clothes in the full length mirror facing the bed. She needed a shower. Then she could organize her thoughts properly, do something productive. She fought against the rising tide of fear and the burn of tears behind her eyes. She would sort this. It wasn't the first time people she cared about had gone missing. It had happened to Sam and Dean, and even her aunt once, and she always found them, the situation was always resolved. This would be no different.

She staggered into the shower and turned the water up until the blistering spray hammered against her back, turning her pale skin blotchy pink. She lost track of how long she leaned against the cold tiles of the shower wall, waiting for her body to stop trembling. She felt so numb, she barely noticed when the boiling hot water ran icy cold.

***

When Nate opened his eyes, he was greeted with nothing but crushing blackness all around him, and the overpowering damp smell of a building that had been out of use for years. He tried to move, but found his arms were bound tightly behind his back; the ropes pulled so tight his shoulder blades screamed in protest. His head was throbbing, the ache centred above his right temple where he could feel a trail of dried blood caking over his forehead. The knife he kept in his boot and the silver blade he had in his jacket were both gone, along with his phone. He swore to himself quietly. This was very bad.

He remembered feeling the brick collide with his skull and the sharp, stabbing pain as he fell into unconsciousness, but everything else was just black. He didn't know how he had gotten into this dark, claustrophobic room, but he suspected demons might be involved. The question that was forefront in his mind was why hadn't they killed him yet? Why hadn't they just killed him back in Maine? His only answer was that they had something much more unpleasant than death planned. Like torture maybe.

He strained his ears for any sound, the rustle of clothes, or the whisper of someone breathing, a voice or footsteps. But there was nothing but crushing silence. He tried to work the knots around his wrists and ankles free, but they refused to come loose, no matter how hard he struggled. He let out a growl of frustration and slumped against the wall, trying to stretch out his cramped, aching muscles. He sent out a silent prayer to Miriana or his aunt. They had to have worked out that he was missing by now. Yeah, he often disappeared for weeks at a time on a hunt with his friends, but he always called home, always kept contact. He wondered how long he had been missing; he thought perhaps two days. His stomach rumbled loudly, hunger clawing at his insides. His clothes felt sticky and stale, clinging to his cold skin, and every muscle in his body was contorted and twisted, screaming in protest at the cramped position he was lying in. He certainly felt like he had been lying there for days.

Suddenly, he heard a door swinging open at what sounded like the end of a corridor, and the echoing noise of boots across the floor. He sat up a little straighter, the only thing he could do to prepare himself for a possible confrontation. Then he heard men's voices outside the door, one of them talking in a tense voice,

"But what if she doesn't-"

Another voice cut across him, sounding exasperated, "I've told you she will come. I know her. She's far too noble to just leave him."

The voices were beginning to fade now, the two men were evidently moving away. Nate strained his ears to listen to their voices, but there were too indistinct for him to discern what they were saying. He slumped back against the wall again, and prepared to wait out the long hours with nothing but the darkness of the room.

***

"Look, this is bloody ridiculous," Miriana snapped, glaring at the neatly manicured woman behind the desk, "How many times, my cousin has gone missing and I want you to track the GPS in his phone. I've given you the account number and everything."

"I'm terribly sorry, Miss, but we can't find any record of him," she tapped away at a few more keys, "You must be mistaken."

Miriana ran a hand through her hair and fought the urge to slap the woman around the face, He has an account with your company, his name is Nate Westchild, now just FIND HIM." She slammed her hand down in the desk to emphasize the point. A few people looked up from their computers screens curiously. The woman gave a huge false smile, flashing her perfectly white Hollywood teeth.

"I understand this is difficult, Miss," she said in a cool voice, "But we simply don't have a record of him. I'm afraid you'll have to try somewhere else."

Miriana clenched her fist and drew a huge breath into her lungs, forcing herself to calm down. With a sickly smile to match the woman's behind the desk, she flounced out of the office with a "Thank you so much for your help."

She threw herself into her car, resting her head against the driving wheel, waiting for her breathing to calm, but it wouldn't slow. The frustration gave way to panic and a crushing sense of fear. She was no closer to finding Nate. If he was even alive and not lying in a pool of blood somewhere. She tried to force such morbid thoughts down; they weren't helping to muffle the choking feelings of anxiety and desperation. She found herself wishing for Castiel. She needed his deep soothing voice and the calming force of his cerulean blue eyes. She wished she hadn't been so cruel to him the last time they'd met.

She was jerked from her reverie by her mobile. She scrabbled through the contents of her bag until she found it, glancing at the caller ID. It was Nate. She felt relief coursing through her, uncoiling the constant twist of worry that had lodged in her stomach and chest.

"Nate you bastard, do you have any idea how worried I've been?! What, are you allergic to the phone now or something? For god's sake I thought-"

If you ever want to see your little baby cousin alive and in one piece then I strongly suggest you shut that pretty little mouth of yours, sweetheart," a cold, drawling voice that sent shivers racing up her spine cut across her. She felt her heart sink from her chest all the way down to her stomach. She knew who's voice it was on the other end, knew who had taken Nate.

"Reuben," she stated. There was no questioning tone in her voice, just crippling realisation.

"Damn straight, doll face. It's been a while."


	38. Goodbye to You

_Hi, hope you enjoy this chapter. A big thanks to anyone who's left a reveiw or a favourite as always. Hope I'm keeping it interesting enough for you all! :)_

"What have you done to Nate?" Miriana asked in a quiet voice. Her hands were trembling so badly she could barely hold the phone to her ear.

"Nothing he won't recover from. Yet," he replied. She could literally hear the smirk in his voice.

"Why are you doing this?" she hissed into the phone, "Why Nate?"

He laughed, an awful cold, predatorial sound, "Why else? To get at you, sweet cheeks."

"Then why not just kill me? Nate has got nothing to do with this," she snapped.

"Well I would have done," he said, a mild note of annoyance in his town, "If it weren't for that angel you've got perched on your shoulder."

"Excuse me?"

"Don't be cute, Miriana," he growled, "You know perfectly well who I'm talking about. Castiel, is it?"

Miriana let out a derisive snort, "He's not _my_ angel. Are you so pansy that you won't even come close to me because of him, even when he's not around?"

"He's _always_ around, that's the problem. Those celestial dicks are really persistent, you know. Your pretty blue eyed boy is always hovering around you somewhere, like he's your goddamn guard dog, or something. My demons have been tracking you for weeks, but every time they get close he's there. Either him or some old bag I've seen a few times."

"What the hell are you talking about?" she snarled, "I only see him a few times a month. And I have never met this woman you're talking about."

He gave another cold, raucous laugh, "Looks like you've got yourself a stalker, Miriana."

"I....I..." she couldn't think of anything to say. Were the demons lying about how much time Castiel spent around her without her knowing?

"Lost for words huh?" he asked mockingly, "That's rare. Maybe this will make you a little chattier, baby doll."

She heard shouting in the background and a clatter of metal, and then sharp rustling as the phone was passed between hands.

"Miriana?" came Nate's hoarse voice over the phone line. She felt the tears that had been threatening to spill over her eyes roll down her cheeks in hot streaks.

"Oh my god, Nate," she breathed, "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," he muttered, "You?"

She let out a choked, hysterical laugh, "Not too bad."

There was a crackle as the phone was pulled away, and Reuben's cruel voice returned,

"See Miriana, he's fine. And he'll stay that way it you come and find us within twenty four hours. If you don't, you'll be taking him home in a matchbox."

Miriana took a deep shaking breath, fighting back the fresh wave of tears, "Where are you?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"560, Industrial lane, Minnesota," he snapped coldly over the phone, "Twenty four hours, be here. Come alone and unarmed. No angels, no Winchesters, nothing. Understood?"

He cut the call off without waiting for her reply. She supposed with the terms he had given her, he guessed she would comply. She felt the phone slip out of her hands as she dissolved into fresh tears, trailing down her cheeks in burning streaks. She rested her forehead against the steering wheel again, sucking huge breaths of air in her lungs, desperately trying to control the hitches in her breathing, almost choking on the lump in her throat. She had to go to Reuben; it was the only thing that would stop him from stripping the skin from Nate, piece by piece. She wasn't going to ring Sam or Dean for help, as she'd understood perfectly clearly what would happen if she didn't go to them alone. He would kill her_ and_ Nate. She sat up straight in the seat, wiping the salty tears away from her cheeks, her fingers coming away stained black with mascara and eyeliner. She opened the glove box and fumbled with her trembling fingers until she found the box of tissues and pulled a few free, checking her reflection in the mirror, scrubbing the black smudges away from underneath her eyes. She pulled her eyeliner pencil from her purse and diligently reapplied the makeup, replacing the dark lines. If she was going to die soon, she was at least going to look good. Live fast, die young and leave a pretty corpse, didn't it go something like that?

She started the car so it roared into life, turned her Guns 'n' Roses CD up until it rattled the frame of the car, and began the long drive to Minnesota, resolutely ignoring the throb of fear lodged in her chest.

***

Driving on the long, straight empty roads gave Miriana chance to think.

She wasn't really sure if she was afraid of dying. Any time she had come close to death, she had never really had much chance to think about what was waiting for her on the other side. It had always happened too fast for her to mull over it. But now she had hours to think. Too much time, really.

She saw this as her chance to atone for Cristian's death, as although she never let herself think about, it was her fault. She had been the one that had rushed after the demon, hell bent on revenge for her parent's death, ending up hooked up to a network of tubes in a hospital bed, comatose, while Cristian's torn up body ended up in the morgue. It was her recklessness that had lost him his life, and that fact had haunted Miriana since the day she had woken in that bland, sterile room, her body broken almost to the point of no repair. She had never quite decided what had hurt more, the scars or the guilt. If she could save Nate's life in return for her own, at least she could die with clear conscience. On the positive side, it would probably reduce her chances of returning as a vengeful spirit.

She had left messages on both Sam and Deans' mobiles; she had been almost glad they hadn't answered. She didn't think she would have been able to get the words if they'd been listening to them on the other end. She couldn't bear the idea of ringing her aunt and hearing her voice on the other end, so she had stopped at a gas station and written her a note, folded it carefully and placed it on the passenger seat. She did the same for Bobby, as hearing his gruff voice, the voice of the surrogate father that had protected her and helped her all through her life would only tip her into a fresh wave of tears. She was emulating Dean in that respect; keep all those feelings bottled up safely inside. She wasn't going to face death crying like a little girl. She turned the volume up a little louder, so the thundering drumbeats numbed her frayed nerves.

She had considered Castiel a few times, but she didn't have the bravery to call for him. The idea that it might the last time she ever saw him made the sting of tears start behind her eyes. It was too painful, thinking that she might never fall into his deep blue eyes again or listen to his calming voice. Besides, she didn't imagine that he would care too much if she died. He surely had too many other things to think about, like the devil rising from hell or the threat of the apocalypse and fire raining from the sky. She was nothing compared to that. She was tiny in the big scheme of things. But she clung to that tiny, fragile hope that flared up in her chest that maybe, just maybe he would feel just a little bit of pain if she died. Just a little, before he carried on with things so much more important than her.

She glanced at the clock; she still had six hours before she had to meet Rueben. She still had plenty of time. Her head was feeling a little fuzzy and her eyes were aching with tiredness, and her brain was screaming for coffee. She carried on down the road and pulled in at a service station, its neon sign blaring over the road, it colours muted against the slowly fading light. She waited in the long queue beside the counter, frustrated that this was the way she was spending what was likely to be the last few hours of her life, standing in a gas station waiting for coffee. Shouldn't she be going on a drinking binge in a bar and dragging the cutest guy back to her hotel room? Or maybe she was thinking a little too much like Dean for her liking.

She returned to her car, parked in the farthest corner of the car park. She leaned against the bonnet, breathing in the early evening air, mixed with the harsh tang of gasoline. She had always thought it had sounded like a clichéd movie quote when people said you didn't really appreciate the simple things in life until it was coming to an end, but she found she could kind of agree with that statement. She hadn't really realised how much she loved eighties rock, or how good cappuccinos tasted.

She had the feeling that Reuben wouldn't make her death quick, like snap her neck or stop her heart with a twist of his fingers. She guessed it would give him much more enjoyment to peel her skin of, bit by bit, listen to her screams, to prolong it for as long as he could. After so long chasing her, she couldn't imagine he would want it over and done with quickly. She got the impression he was something of a fan of torture; he probably even interned under the master of torture himself, Alastair, down in hell. Well, life, and death, it seemed, could be a bitch. She took a last swig of her coffee and turned to unlock her car, and walked straight into a solid figure next to her.

For a heart stopping second, she thought it was Reuben, come to find her early, but she looked up into a pair of stormy blue eyes and instantly relaxed.

"Cas, bloody hell, you frightened the crap out of me," she said breathlessly, stepping back, increasing the small distance between them.

"You can't go to him," he said, his voice low and intense. She frowned. How the hell did he know already?

"Excuse me?" she asked.

"Reuben, the demon," he replied, "You can't go. He'll kill you."

"I have to," she whispered, her voice breaking against her will, "He'll kill Nate. I can't let that happen." She felt the lump rising in her throat again. She was surprised to see the anguish colouring his eyes when he looked at her. He said nothing.

"You have to understand," she said quietly, closing her long fingers around his arm, "I can't let someone else die because of me." She blinked back the tears, determined not to cry in front of him.

He cupped her face in his hand, the warmth of his skin burning straight through her skin and sinking into her bones, "Cristian's death wasn't your fault," he murmured, "And neither is this. You don't need to sacrifice yourself."

She folded her hand over his and gently returned it to his side, surprised by how much she missed the warmth of his skin against hers. "Yes I do." This was too painful. She turned away from him, back to the handle of her car door.

He caught her hand, pulling her back to face him, "Don't..." he said, his voice raw with pain. She hadn't expected him to be so pained by the prospect of her death. She almost would have preferred cold indifference; this was too hard for her.

"Just let me help you," he pleaded, "Don't go alone. They won't be a match for me."

She shook her head, "I can't. If I don't go alone, they'll kill Nate. I just...can't..."

She tried to pull away again, but he kept her anchored in place, his hand tightened over hers. She swallowed hard, fighting the hitch in her chest. Why did he care so much?

They stayed like this for a few long seconds, then Miriana gave up trying to fight against him and threw her arms around his neck, turning her face into his shoulder, breathing in the clean smell of cotton and that light scent underneath that she could only describe as the smell of sunshine. He stayed still as a statue, as if unsure of what to do, but then she felt his arms around her waist, pressing her so close against him she could feel his heart against hers, like he was trying to mould her body into his. She moved her fingers across the nape of his neck, brushing through the short lengths of his dark hair, and she felt him shiver. She let out a trembling breath she hadn't realised she had been holding and she pulled away slowly, brushing her lips gently against his cheek, the stubble on his jaw grazing against her skin. His arms around her were as strong as iron, and she thought, almost hoped, for a second that he wouldn't let her go. But he released her, his eyes dark when she looked up at him. She swallowed hard.

"Miriana..." he began softly. She turned away quickly, before he saw her dissolve into tears.

"I have to go," she choked out, yanking the handle of her car door so it flung backwards, and threw herself into the front seat. She jammed her keys into the ignition, very aware that he was still stood there as if frozen to the spot. The music blared back into life, drowning out the roar of the engine and she pulled out of the parking lot, turning onto the road with a screech of tyres. She couldn't bear to look in her rear view mirror. She managed to get halfway down the highway before she burst into tears.


	39. Monster

_Hi, hope you enjoy this chapter, and thanks as always to everyone who left a reveiw or a favourite, I really appreciate it. On a totally random note I went to see thirty seconds to mars last night in Manchester and they were incredible; I got so close to Jared Leto! My throat is killing me though, but its worth it! (I apologize for the randomness or to anyone who hates thirty seconds to mars, but I'm still ranting about it to everyone!) :)_

Miriana's plan of facing death without breaking down had failed spectacularly after Castiels' appearance. Not even the ferocity of AC/DC blasting out of the speakers had managed to shock her out of her shower of tears. She wanted the comfort of Castiel's arms so badly her whole body seemed to ache. She wished she had been brave enough to tell him the way she felt, but she could never find the words; she would just have to settle for that last, breathless goodbye embrace.

The signs she saw alongside the road told her she was close to the meeting point now. It was completely dark now, her car passing between the pools of orange light cast by the streetlamps. Her mobile had been ringing constantly for the past half an hour, the caller I.D showing Dean, then Sam, then Bobby, the pattern repeating constantly. Eventually she turned it off. She couldn't face them, not even over the phone.

She checked her reflection the rear view mirror. She had replaced her eyeliner three times, trying to control her shaking fingers so she wouldn't end up with eyes like a racoon. Her short dark hair was knotted, so she pulled her fingers through the knots, smoothing the short strands. There was no pricking of tears behind her eyes anymore; it seemed that she had cried herself out, even though she had promised herself she wouldn't. Her eyes felt dry, and there was an odd emptiness in her chest, as if her insides had been scooped out and tossed aside, leaving her hollow. It was hard to breathe deeply, but she forced a great gulp of air into her lungs, concentrating on the feeling of her chest expanding, filling with air. She placed a hand over her chest, feeling her heart beating frantically under her hand, as if it realised that it might be about to stop. Straightening her leather jacket and smoothing out the creases in her jeans, she pushed open the car door determinedly, climbed out, and squared her shoulders, preparing to face death.

***

After Miriana had driven away seemingly in a panic, Castiel had simply stood in the car park, watching her car dwindle into a pinprick down the road. He had started to receive a few odd looks, and one woman had even asked if he was alright, so he had made the decision to sit on a park bench at the side of the car park. He felt...lost. He knew he should follow her, but he simply couldn't seem to get his limbs in motion. There was an odd pain in his chest; he had checked for injuries on his vessel but had found nothing, found no source of pain. He simply couldn't understand where the pain was originating from.

Miriana had been so close, close enough that he could have kissed her. He should have done. Maybe then he would have been able to tell her the way he felt, without having to describe feelings he couldn't find words for. He had just let her slip away. He should have held onto her a little tighter. He put his head in his heads, focusing on the ground underneath his feet, as if hoping it would give him an answer.

It felt like hours that he stayed glued to the bench, contemplating the gravel when he heard the faint scraping of feathers over feathers and looked up to see Embriel stood in front of him, her hands placed squarely on her hips, a frown across her forehead.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded.

"I...I don't know," he stuttered, quailing very slightly under Embriels' furious gaze.

"Miriana could be facing that demon right now, and you're just sat here, navel gazing," she snapped, slapping her hand around the side of his head, "You can't really tell me you don't care about her."

"She left," he said, his voice quiet, "I just...didn't know how to tell her...what to..." he tailed off. Embriels' expression instantly softened.

"If we go now," she said, her voice gentle, "We can help her."

This time he found he could mobilize himself enough to move; and followed Embriel as she stretched her wings. He just hoped he wasn't too late.

***

Miriana pushed open the rusting door of the warehouse, wincing as the hinges screamed in protest. She felt incredibly vulnerable without her gun or her silver knife in her jacket, but she knew better than to try and slip a weapon past the demons. She followed the long dingy corridor, heading towards the sliver of light that glinted through the shadows. Her heart felt as if it were trying to force its way out of her chest, and her footsteps seemed awfully loud against the floor.

She stopped before the door and sucked a great breath into her lungs before she could work up the courage to push the door open and face whatever was waiting for her inside. She pushed the door open and stepped inside, casting her eyes around the room. It was the main hall of the warehouse, but it looked more like the carcass of some giant beast. The metal struts of the pillars clawed at the sky like an iron ribcage, stained with bloody red rust. Broken panes of glass that had fallen from the shattered windows crunched underneath her feet and she picked her way gingerly across the filthy floor. The harsh strip lights cast their cold white light over everything, leaving dark, jagged shadows leaping in the corners of the room. There was no one else in the room, just silence. Miriana waited, waiting for the fear to kick in, but she didn't feel anything except that emptiness in her chest. She'd gone through every emotion, and it seemed she couldn't feel anything else. It was freezing, but she couldn't even feel the cold, she felt so numb.

She started when a door at the end of the hall swung open, banging back against the wall with a metallic clatter. Four figures walked through, a petite blond woman and a red head along with two tall dark haired men, one of which walked to the front of his group, a cold smirk on his face. He clapped his leather clad hands together slowly and deliberately, baring his perfectly white, straight teeth in a manic grin.

"Here she is," he said, his voice mocking, "Miss Westchild herself. And he was me thinking you wouldn't show up."

"Where's Nate?" she snapped.

"Calm down baby, we'll get to that in a minute," he said, gesturing to the red head, who immediately swept out of the room. He stepped towards her, the cold smile still plastered across his face.

"I've missed you," he crooned, his voice soft, "You look better every time I see you. I guess a little fear does you good."

"Piss off," she spat. His icy smile grew wider.

"Not good with the manners though," he smirked. Behind him, Miriana saw the red head returning with another demon, the two of them holding Nate between them in an iron grip. He struggled a few times, but there was no breaking their hold. There was dried blood caking the hair that lay over his forehead, his lips and nose were bleeding profusely, and his left eye was covered with an unhealthy blue black bruise. He gave Miriana a quick smile, even though his eyes were terrified.

"See Miriana," Reuben said, gesturing at Nate, still tugging at the grip of the demons on either side of him, "I keep my promises."

Miriana swallowed, "Please, just...let him go." She hated begging.

"I don't think so sunshine," Reuben said, his Cheshire cat grin growing even wider, if that was possible.

He stepped even closer to Miriana, so he was just an arm's length away, "He's gonna stay here and you're gonna watch him die. And when I'm done, you're next."

Miriana felt a flare of anger and panic in her chest, "You lying bastard," she hissed, "You told me you'd let him go!"

He tilted his head in mock confusion, "Hmm. Did I? Well, I lied. Come Miriana, you should know better than that. Lying and manipulating comes with the job description."

He started circling her, like a shark circling its prey, coming closer towards her with every circuit. She shivered with disgust when she felt him trail one of his hands across her bare neck.

"You look terrified," he whispered, pressing his cold lips to the hollow under her ear, "Relax." She felt his hot breath against her ear, and she fought the urge to pull away, the sour acrid taste of bile on her tongue.

"You're gonna be here for a while," he murmured against the skin of her neck, his hands moving down to her hips, "Might as well get comfortable." Her skin felt as if it were trying to crawl away from his lips and hands, every nerve in her body on fire. She heard the metallic click of a knife being pulled free of it sheath, and her stomach plummeted.

"I'm gonna strip the skin off your bones," he said in her ear, "I'm going to drag every scream out of you I can, but before I do, think I'll have a little fun first."

He stepped in front of her, his eyes liquid black, the handsome face of his host contorted into a cold grin, more a baring of teeth, like a predator before it struck down its prey. He grabbed hold of her chin with his long spidery fingers and crushed his lips against hers hard, forcing her mouth open. She struggled against him, but one of his strong arms snaked around her waist, leaving her no room for escape. She let out a muted scream of protest at the violation, but he didn't remove his lips, only kissed her harder. She screamed when she felt him sink his teeth into her bottom lip, piercing through the soft skin. He pulled away, pushing her backwards so she stumbled. She heard Nate cry out, and then the petite blond woman dealt him a crippling blow to his stomach, instantly shutting him up. She tasted the metallic tang of the iron in her blood on her tongue, and her stomach heaved. Reuben smiled, rolling the taste of her blood around on his tongue like he was tasting a fine wine.

He moved towards her again, grabbing hold of her by the front of her jacket, pulling her close again, pressing the serrated blade of the knife against her chest, over her heart.

"You never know babe," he said, tracing his thumb along the edge of his blade, running his cold eyes up and down her body, "You might even enjoy it."

In a lightning fast motion, he sliced the blade down Miriana's chest, tearing through the fragile skin like scissors through paper, scraping against her breastbone. She cried out, feeling the hot trails of blood roll down her skin and soak into her shirt.

"I'm just getting started, honey," he hissed, wiping the blade on his jeans. He turned to the demons behind him, switching his cold glare to Nate, still held in the vice like grip of the demons. Keeping his eyes on Miriana, he walked behind Nate and pressed the blade to his neck, resting it over the jumping pulse.

"Please," she whispered.

Nate shut his eyes as Reuben pressed the blade into his neck hard enough to draw blood, and Miriana felt the first tears of helplessness and despair spill over her eyes. She braced herself to watch him die, then a voice behind her cut through the still air in the warehouse.

"Leave him alone," commanded a voice behind her. Miriana turned to see an elegant middle aged woman stood behind her, her dark green eyes furious, her lips curled in disgust. Behind the woman stood Castiel, his eyes fixed on Miriana, a look of pure relief on his face. It took a considerable amount of effort on Miriana's part not to rush to him and throw herself into his arms.

The smirk on Reuben's face had been wiped clean at the sight of the two angels. He soon recovered his mocking edge, although Miriana noticed he stepped away from Nate and lowered the knife.

"Let me guess, Castiel and Embriel," he said, gesturing at the two of them, "I've heard quite a bit about you from my demons. Always hovering around the lovely Miss Westchild, aren't you?"

"Leave the two of them alone," Embriel demanded, stepping past Miriana towards the demons who visibly recoiled as she approached them, "Leave, now."

"I don't think so, lady," Reuben said in a deceptively calm voice, "Stay where you are!" he snapped suddenly at the two demons that were holding Nate, who had both been edging towards the door behind them. They froze, exchanging panicked glances.

At that moment, Embriel was suddenly in front of the blond demon; she placed her palm flat against her forehead, and the demon shrieked, a bright light flaring behind her eyes and mouth. She dropped like a stone to the floor, nothing but empty sockets where her eyes used to be. The second demon, the tall dark haired man, turned and fled towards the door, but Castiel caught him before he could get anywhere close to the exit and like Embriel, pressed his palm against his forehead, dropping him when he slumped to the floor, eyes burned away.

Miriana ran to Nate, who was doubled over on the floor, clutching his bruised stomach, and brought his head up to hers, checking the bloody cuts on his face. She kissed his forehead, and slipped her arms under his, helping him to his feet; before she could, Reuben clamped his hand around the front of her jacket and threw her across the room so hard she smashed into the wall, and then collided with the floor, all the breath driven out of her lungs. She coughed up blood, wincing as a stabbing pain tore through her chest and she was hauled to her feet again. Reuben spun her around, and she felt the icy cold press of the knife against her throat and Reuben's harsh breath in her ear. Embriel was supporting a limp Nate, her slender arm around his waist and Castiel stood beside them, a long narrow cut across his cheekbone. He met her eyes, but she couldn't read the expression in them.

"Make one move and I'll cut her throat," he shouted, and Miriana detected a slight note of panic, even fear in his tone. Castiel stepped forwards, and Reuben's arms tightened across her chest, restricting her breathing. She bit her lip to stop her cry of pain as the edge of the knife nicked her skin.

"I mean it," he snarled, "I'll kill her!"

He leaned in closer to her, whispering in her ear, "This isn't the way I wanted this to go. I was planning on taking a long time with you, had ideas for a lot more foreplay than this."

"You know what we will do if you don't let her go," Embriel shouted back, the perfect picture of an avenging angel. She could practically sense Reuben's indecision, felt the press of the blade against her throat slacken a little.

"This isn't over, sweetheart," he spat, releasing her then shoving her hard in the small of her back so she staggered. She flew straight into Castiel's waiting arms, slamming into his solid body and he steadied her, gently placing his arms around her waist, resting his hands against the small of her back.

"He's gone," Embriel stated calmly, gently shifting Nate's arm higher onto her shoulder, so he was leaning all of his weight against her, "I'll get him to the car."

"Wait," Miriana called, meeting Embriels' eyes over Castiels' shoulder, "Thank you."

It didn't really seem like enough to simply say 'thank you' after she and Castiel had just fought off demons to save her life. But Embriel seemed to understand her sincerity and how grateful she was; she gave a warm, gentle smile in response and inclined her head. She gave Nate a little shake and half dragged him towards the door, murmuring gently to him. Suddenly very aware that she was still ensconced in Castiel's arms, she turned her eyes back to his, stunned into sudden speechlessness by his closeness and the intense look in his eyes. Miriana had never quite understood how he managed to turn her into a trembling wreck with just a mere look. Just for an excuse to tear her eyes away from his, she wrapped her arms around him, pressing her face into the side of his neck and running her hands into his hair.

"Thank you," she said, her voice muffled by the skin of his neck, "Thank you so much."

His hands swept up from the base of her spine to her shoulder blades and down again, "You're welcome," he murmured in her ear, the pressure of his breath making a gentle shiver race up her spine, "I'm just sorry I didn't come sooner."

She lifted her head from his shoulder, "What are you talking about? You stopped him from hurting me and Nate."

"Not quite," he said softly, his eyes darkening as they travelled down to the shallow cut on her neck, then to the far deeper wound on her chest, which was thick with dark blood and stinging in the cold air.

"I've had worse," she muttered. A heavy silence fell between them, one that was thick with unsaid words. Her eyes followed the shape of the cut on his cheekbone, and she gently trailed her fingertips against it, watching him as he shut his eyes and leaned into her hand.

"Cas, I-" she began, but she was cut off by the sound of Embriels' voice. Castiel instantly released her, removing the comfort of his arms and stepped backwards.

"Nate will need a hospital," she said in her calm, reassuring voice, "Two of his ribs are cracked."

Miriana ran a hand through her hair, feeling incredibly flustered, and the butterflies that had been pounding against the walls of her stomach when she looked into his eyes fading away now his body was no longer pressed against hers.

"Right," was all she could manage. Embriels' eyes flickered between the two of them, noting the flush in both their cheeks and the awkward tension between them. Miriana took one last look at Castiel, who said softly, "I'll see you soon." She hoped that was a promise; her stomach already felt fluttery with anticipation.

She swept towards the entrance, past Embriel, who gently patted her arm as she passed and practically ran towards the exit door of the warehouse, desperate to get refreshing, cool air into her lungs. The lights were on in her car, and she saw Nates' figure slumped in the passenger seat, gingerly holding his side and wincing every time he moved. Kneeling down next to the car, she pulled him into a rough hug, pressing a kiss to his forehead while he grumbled in protest.

"Ow!" he yelled, pushing her arms away, "Jesus Christ Miriana, didn't she tell you I've got cracked ribs!?"

"I'm sorry Nate, God, I'm so sorry," she said, placing her hands on his shoulders, feeling tears run down her face.

Nate pulled a face, "Awww, don't get all emotional on me, Miriana. You know I can't handle crying." He reached out and carefully brushed the tears away from her cheeks, "This wasn't your fault, okay? It was that bastard demon." His face darkened at the memory, "I swear to God if he touches you like that again..."

Clumsily wiping the tears away with the back of her hand, Miriana got to her feet and ruffled his dark hair, "Let's just...get you to a hospital, alright? Then I really need a hot shower."

As she climbed into the front seat, Nate turned to her with a smirk, and said,

"Yeah, you do. You stink."


	40. Delicate

_Hi, hope all enjoy this chapter and thanks as anyone to anyone who left a reveiw or a favourite a big thank you to you all! Hope you're all okay :)_

Nate had grumbled for over half an hour solid about having to stay in the hospital overnight, until the attractive nurse that he had been eyeing all night came over to help dress his wounds. Guessing that she was no longer needed, she kissed Nates' forehead, promising to see him the next day, hastily zipping up her leather jacket to hide the cut on her chest as she passed the nurse's station, determined to fix it herself.

Once back in her motel room, she worked her way through a long phone conversation with her aunt, who questioned her about every single thing that had happened, bursting into relieved tears that Miriana had to console her out of. After an hour of comforting her aunt over the phone, cutting her off with a hasty, "I'm really tired", Miriana stripped off her dirty clothes and dropped them in the corner of the room, not caring how creased they got. She pulled her black camisole and shorts that she slept in out of her bag and carried them into the bathroom, throwing them onto the sideboard by the bathroom mirror. She switched the clanking shower on, turning the water up so it was almost blisteringly hot and stepped under the lashing spray. She worked her shampoo and conditioner through her hair, teasing out the knots with her fingers. The cut on her chest stung viciously when it came into contact with the hot water, and she hissed in pain, being extra careful when she cleaned the sticky, congealed blood away.

Considering she had almost died a few hours ago, she felt incredibly upbeat. When she stepped out of the shower, wrapping a fluffy white towel around herself and roughly blow drying her hair, she found herself humming under her breath. She never did that; she had the feeling he recent closeness to Cas was a major factor in her contentedness. She slipped on her top and shorts, ensuring the fabric of her top didn't scrape over the wound on her chest. Opening the first aid kit she carried with her, she pulled out the bottle of antiseptic lotion and carefully smeared it across the deep gash on her chest, wincing as it stung in protest. Grimacing, she pulled the needle and thread from the bag and started the arduous task of stitching up the cut, focusing on the rhythmic movement of the needle rather than the sharp pain as the needle tore through her skin. When she was done, she swept a cotton ball doused in alcohol over the rough stitches, wiping away the blood. Thankful she was finished, she cleared up the bloody tissues and dropped them in the bin next to the door. She checked the ugly cut in the mirror, hoping that it wouldn't scar.

She opened the door and shrieked when it collided with something solid on the other side. Castiel was stood next to the door, looking slightly bewildered.

"Errr..." Miriana said by way of greeting.

"I said I'd come and see you," he said, looking incredibly awkward, "But I can go, if you wish."

"No!" said Miriana, with a little too much haste, "No, it's fine you can stay."

She was suddenly aware she wasn't wearing a great deal, and she found herself wishing she had a dressing gown. His gaze was like a palpable touch on her skin; she felt it travel down her body, taking in the shorts and camisole. It was the most flesh she ever showed.

"How's Nate?" he asked, more to break the silence than anything else.

"Oh, he's fine. Especially since he got the cute nurse's attention in ER," Miriana gave a small laugh. She saw something fleeting cross his face at the sound of her laughter.

"How are you?" he asked softly, moving a little closer; her heart beat a little quicker.

"I'm fine," she said, struggling to hide the quaver in her voice, "Thanks to you."

She could have sworn she saw him blush, and he looked at his feet, "I've told you, you're more than welcome."

Feeling braver, she stepped towards him until she was just a few inches away and gently rested her hands on his shoulders; she felt his whole body tense under her hands, but she didn't remove her hands like she might have before. He lifted his eyes to hers and her heart did its typical stutter in response.

"You've saved my life twice now," she said, moving her hands across his shoulders so her fingers gently rested against the bare skin of his neck, "You can't understand how grateful I am. You're like my knight in shining armour."

He frowned, "I'm not wearing any sort of armour."

Miriana laughed again; he seemed fascinated by the sound. His eyes moved down her face to her lips and he tentatively traced her bottom lip with his thumb, moving his hand to cup her face. Her heart was thundering away at a hundred miles an hour and she felt the adrenalin racing through her veins_. How does he do that?_ She thought to herself.

She hoped this wasn't a dream, like the last time. It didn't feel like a dream; his skin felt real and warm under her fingertips, as did the warmth of his body pressed against hers and his hand against her jaw. He leaned his head towards her, and she instinctively shut her eyes as he pressed his lips against hers, carefully, as if she might break. It started as a gentle, hesitant brushing of lips on lips, his fingers lightly caressing her cheek. She let out a little gasp when he parted her lips gently with his, and she moved her arms around his neck, locking him against her. His hands moved from her face down to her bare shoulders, briefly following the shape of her collarbone, and then moving lower still, so they rested against the small of her back, tracing along the skin at the base of her spine, sliding up a little way underneath the bottom of her camisole. His lips moved against hers perfectly, anticipating her every movement; somewhere in the back of her mind she wondered how he knew how to kiss a woman, but the thought soon fell out of her mind when he kissed her harder, as if he realized she wasn't about to push him away. She moved her hands into his hair, curling her fingers around the short dark strands, and he let out a soft little noise against her mouth. She was so warm it felt like she was melting from the inside out; she was glad for the support of his arms around her, otherwise she was certain her knees would have given out already. As if they had a mind of their own, her hands moved from around his neck and went for the knot of his tie, loosening it a little without even thinking about it. His hands moved too, from the small of her back up to her shoulders, sliding his hands down the straps of her top, skimming his fingers gently along the stitches on her chest, his lips moving against hers harder.

"Miriana!"

They broke apart from each other suddenly, pulling away out of the tangle of arms and lips. The shout had come from outside, and Miriana recognized it as Deans' voice; he really had a knack for killing the moment. She ran a hand through her hair, gasping a breath into her lungs.

Miriana glanced at Cas; he was breathing like he'd just finished a marathon, his cheeks flushed and his eyes wide while Dean continued to hammer on the door.

"I shouldn't have done that," he whispered, "I really shouldn't have done that."

"Cas..." she began, holding out her hand, but he vanished, leaving her alone and shaking in the room.

_Yay! So, finally a real kiss, I'm sure some of you are ready to kill me; but I like to torture Miriana, after all she is my character, I'm going to make life difficult for her. Hope you enjoyed it! ;)_


	41. Here I go Again

_Hi, sorry for the late update but I was away this weekend and I completely forgot to update before I left! Sorry :( I hope you all enjoy this chapter, and I'll try and update a little better next week. Thanks as always to everyone who has left a reveiw, I really appreciate it! :)_

Dean was still hammering away on the door, but Miriana was stood as if glued to the spot in the middle of the room, hand still outstretched towards the spot where Castiel had been stood. She couldn't seem to get her brain to function, to respond in any way; she was still lost in the memory of a few minutes ago, in Castiel's arms.

"Miriana!" Dean yelled, "Open the friggin' door!"

She shook her head, coming out of her reverie, briefly checking her reflection in the mirror. Her cheeks and the skin across her chest and neck was flushed a deep rose pink. She fluffed her hair a few times, straightened the straps of her camisole and strode over the door and threw it open to find Deans' furious face.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he demanded, shouldering his way into the room so Miriana was forced to take a step backwards, "We get this friggin' phone call from you, saying that you might be about to die, then we call you and get no reply, God we've been going out of our minds, I mean-"

"Dean!" Sam cut across him, "Dude seriously, give her chance to breathe."

Miriana was grateful for Sam's intervention, and she was about to thank him before she had the air crushed from lungs by Dean throwing his arms around her waist and lifting her almost off the floor.

"Dean-I can't-breathe-" she choked out, catching a glimpse of Sams' amused face over Deans' shoulder. He set her down carefully and stepped back, clearing his throat.

"No chick flick moments," he grunted, shuffling his feet across the carpet. He set her down carefully and stepped back, clearing his throat.

"So," Sam began, "What the hell happened to you?" His eyes travelled down to the ugly stitches on her chest, "How did that happen?"

She took a deep breath, trying to find the right place to start. She walked over to the small fridge in the corner and pulled out two beers, deciding that they might pacify Sam and Dean. She explained everything, watching as their faces darkened with very word she said. Dean was gripping the bottle so tightly his knuckles were white and she half expected the bottle to crack into two at any minute.

"So...yeah that's what happened," she finished, slumping down onto the bed and crossing her legs.

"Why didn't you just ask for our help?" Dean questioned in an exasperated tone. Miriana sighed loudly, "I told you, he would have killed the both of us."

"He nearly killed the both of you anyway," Dean muttered under his breath, taking a swig of beer.

"You didn't really tell us how you got away," Sam asked suddenly, running his fingertip around the rim of the bottle. Miriana fell silent for a few seconds, thinking. She had the sudden impulse to lie, for reasons she couldn't fathom.

"Castiel helped me," she said in a quiet voice, instantly dropping her eyes to the carpet. She tried to stop herself, as she knew Sam would be able to read her body language a mile off, but it was like a knee jerk reaction.

"Castiel?" Dean repeated, "Cas? As in self righteous dick in a trench coat, Castiel?"

Miriana rolled her eyes, "How many Castiel's do we know, Dean?"

"So he saved your life?" Sam asked, placing his beer bottle on the table and leaned forwards in his chair.

"Yeah," Miriana said, unable to think of anything else to say, "He just sort of...swooped in from nowhere."

"Huh," said Sam. She looked up from her study of the carpet to find Sam watching her curiously, his brows slightly furrowed, with that expression she'd seen many times before that meant he was analyzing her every expression and emotion.

"What?" snapped Dean and Miriana at the same time, Dean glancing across at his brother with an irritated expression.

"Nothin'," said Sam, leaning back in his chair and stretching his long arms above his head.

"Seriously, what?" Miriana barked, getting more and more agitated by the second.

"Nothing," Sam repeated, a half smile on his face. Miriana had a strong suspicion that he had guessed her feelings a mile off. He had always been a lot better than Dean at reading body language and emotions; he had always guessed whenever she had a problem when they were teenagers. It could be a blessing and a curse; it irritated both Miriana and Dean to no end that he would give them a psychological interrogation whenever one of them was slightly snappier than usual.

"Dude stop it," Dean growled, "You're gonna do that whole, 'let's talk about how you're feeling today' thing aren't you?"

"No," said Sam, in a frustratingly calm voice, "Actually, I was thinking we'll leave you alone. You look like you need some sleep."

Miriana wasn't sure if she could hear a hint of innuendo in Sams' voice, although his face was completely neutral. Dean downed the last of his beer, still watching Sam suspiciously over the bottle neck.

"Where are you staying?" asked Miriana, standing up to go and throw her arms awkwardly around Sam's broad shoulders. He was too tall to give proper hugs to.

"Just a few doors down, actually," Dean replied, "We think there's a case in this town."

"What kind of case?" Miriana asked, clearing up the empty beer bottles and dropping them into the bin next to the door.

"Nobody in this town is snuffing it," Dean said, shrugging on his leather jacket, "We...well actually Einstein over here," Dean grumbled, gesturing at Sam, "Reckons there are no reapers around to carry the spirits up to the pearly white gates."

"So what are you going to do, just ask death back nicely?" Miriana gave a snort of derisive laughter.

"Look, we haven't quite got to that bit yet, alright?" snapped Dean, "Anyway genius can you come up with a solution?"

Miriana opened her mouth then shut it again.

"See," Dean said in a surly tone.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Miriana said, pushing Dean out of the doorway.

"G'night," Sam shouted, glancing over his shoulder at Miriana, the half smile still across his face. It was pissing her off.

She slammed the door with a little more force than necessary and threw herself down on the bed. She wondered if Sam really had guessed her feelings for Castiel, or whether he was just trying to wind her up. She had always been fairly good at covering things up, but the way she felt when Castiel was around her, even just the thought of him left her so flustered she was easier to read than usual. Maybe Sam was simply teasing her, rather than actually believing she was infatuated with their angelic ally. Besides, she told herself, it was nothing more than an infatuation. An overwhelming one, but an infatuation all the same, and it would pass.

Feeling tiredness creeping up over her, she rolled off the bed, climbed under the thick cover and switched off the light, plunging the room into near darkness, the only light emanating from the street lamp outside her window. She turned onto her back and stared up at the dark ceiling, her mind buzzing.

She could still taste him on her lips and feel his warm hands on her skin, and the sensation made her feel dizzy, even though she was lying down. She hadn't expected him to kiss her the way he had so passionately. It didn't match with his cold exterior and expressionless face. She had expected any kiss between them to be chaste and hesitant; after all he was a soldier of God, but it had been the exact opposite. He'd known exactly where to hold her and how to kiss her. She still hadn't figured out how; maybe he came to earth often and indulged in women, kind of like a celestial version of Dean. She couldn't imagine it somehow, as he just seemed too gentle and innocent for that. She remembered his reaction when she had held his hand back in that park, like he'd never been touched affectionately in his long life. Perhaps he had just felt exceptionally brave tonight, or maybe he was just grateful to see her alive. She just couldn't help wondering what might have happened had Dean not interrupted them; she was certain she wouldn't have stopped at his tie, as unintentional as her actions might have been.

She rolled back over onto her side, unable to get comfortable. She wanted to see him again, wanted to talk to him, to tell him everything she was feeling, although a nagging voice in the back of her head told her it was a stupid idea. It felt like she was in love with him, the more she thought about it, it seemed less like an obsession. Her memories of Cristian told her that much; the unexpected rush of butterflies in her stomach when she saw him or heard his voice, and that feeling of being pulled towards him whenever he was in the room, along with the rush of hormones that made her act irrationally. She barely knew him, but she remembered her aunt telling her in one of her long speeches on love that it could take just a few days to fall in love with a guy if he was right for her. She tossed and turned for a few more minutes, then threw off the covers and switched the light on, moving into the middle of the room. She took a deep breath, steeling herself, feeling incredibly stupid.

"Cas?" she questioned of thin air, "Cas, I was...just wondering if I could talk to you?"

She waited, hating the silence and emptiness of the motel room.

"Cas?" she tried again. The last time she'd asked to see him, he's appeared in a matter of seconds, but now it seemed he wasn't going to appear at all. She waited a little longer, asking a few times, her voice growing quieter with every feeble request. Stupidly, she felt on the verge of tears, her voice close to breaking. She knew it; she knew she'd frightened him off by kissing him. He didn't want her, and she'd forced herself on him. Feeling incredibly stupid, she switched the light off, throwing herself back under the covers and pulling them up over her head, surrounding herself in her own cocoon. The tears of frustration and humiliation were still burning behind her eyes, but she squeezed them tight shut, soon falling into a restless sleep.

***

Of course Castiel had heard her calling him, listening to her voice getting more and more desperate each time she uttered his name. The strange ache he had felt in his chest the day he had said goodbye to Miriana started up again at the sound of her voice, but he couldn't go to her. A second after he had left Miriana in her motel room Zachariah had found him, demanded to know why he had neglected his duty all day, where he had been when the rest of his garrison needed his help with a coven of demons in Georgia. He had been unable to answer, terrified of revealing Miriana's name to them, imagining how long and painful they would make her death if they realized what had happened. Their kiss had been a huge mistake, although he found it hard to feel regret for something he had wanted to do since the day he had met her. He was putting her life in danger, and he knew that, but he couldn't seem to get her out of his head. He felt as if there was an inextricable link between them, pulling them ceaselessly towards each other, like magnets. The way he felt towards her reminded him of a force of nature, unstoppable, as if he had been designed for her.

He hadn't intended to kiss her, but it had just seemed the perfect way to tell her how he was feeling as he found it so difficult to explain to her with words. Kissing was not something he was experienced in any way with, but he had the feeling he must have done something right, as she hadn't pushed him away, but pulled him closer. His instincts had told him what to do, and he simply followed them. Irrational anger and frustration had rushed through him when Dean hammering on the door had dragged him from such a perfect moment, seconds before the horror and realization had hit him. Anyone could have been watching them, Zachariah, or even one of the higher ranking archangels.

He was incredibly distracted, and it hadn't gone unnoticed by the others in his garrison. Several times Uriel had tried to bully the truth out of him, but he resolutely refused to say anything. He spent any time away from the garrison watching Miriana from a distance, too unsure of himself to get any closer to her. She looked tired, he thought, noting the purple bruise like shadows underneath her dark eyes and the colourless pallor of her skin. She'd called for him a few more times, but eventually she'd fallen silent.

He kept an eye on her from a distance, finding himself lingering around the places she'd been as if hoping to catch the phantom smell of her perfume and the echo of her voice. It was a poor substitute for the real thing, but it was better than feeling so completely lonely without seeing her. Several times he worked up the bravery to speak to her, but it soon faded when he caught sight of her. However, a week after their kiss, he found he had no choice but to talk to her. He was sitting on a bench in a local park in the middle of the town Miriana was staying in, staring listlessly at the leaf littered ground, when he heard the familiar musical lilt of her voice. He raised his head to find her stood in front of him, and he felt his all too human body respond to the sight of her; his heart skipped a few beats and his stomach felt weak and fluttery, and instantly his throat and mouth felt as dry as a bone. It was a constant source of bafflement why his body reacted in such a way to the mere sight of her.

"Hi," she said, a breathless, almost excited edge to her voice.

"Hello," he replied cautiously. He stood so that they were on the same level, his eyes meeting hers.

"I've missed you," she said softly, dropping her eyes to the floor, her cheeks flushing furiously. He thought the spots of colour across her cheeks suited her pale skin, admired the way the sunlight played across her dark eyes and showed all the myriad shades in them. She took another step towards him and he unconsciously breathed in her perfume, caught on the late afternoon breeze. This was getting dangerous yet again, he thought, but he was finding it difficult to break away from her, the way he told himself he would do if she got so close to him again.

"I called for you a few times," she said, quietly, "But you-"

"I was busy," he cut across her sharply. He didn't intend for his voice to come out as cold as it did. He saw the hurt register briefly across her features.

"Oh...r-right, of course," she stammered, casting her eyes back to the floor again, "Look Cas, I..." she tailed off, as if unsure of what to say. She raised her hand to lightly brush his cheek, and it took all the willpower he had not to lean into her slim, soft fingers as they trailed across his skin. He took a deep fortifying breath and as gently but as forcefully as he could, he folded his hand over hers and removed her hand from his cheek, replacing it at her side.

"Miriana, I wanted to apologize," he said, taking a step back so there was a respectable distance between them and he wasn't clouded by her closeness.

She frowned, "For what?"

"For kissing you," he answered, trying to keep his voice as neutral as possible. He wasn't sorry at all, but he couldn't let her know that. He had to stop this before she was hurt.

She let out a small, nervous laugh, "I wouldn't be sorry for that."

"This contact between us is not a good idea," he continued, watching the tentative smile vanish from her face, "My superiors have expressed..." he searched for the right word, "Concerns."

"Oh," was all that she said. He couldn't read her eyes, or the tone in her voice.

"I think it best that we keep apart," he said, watching her face carefully.

"Right," she choked out. He hated this. This pain was worse that he could have imagined.

Silence fell between them, Miriana staring at the ground, Cas watching her every slight movement. He sensed this was the calm in the eye in the eye of the storm before the raging winds and lashing rain began.

"I think I should g-" he began, but she cut across him, her voice trembling.

"One question," she said, meeting his eyes. He nodded briefly.

"Why did you kiss me?" she asked, conflict raging in her eyes. He noticed her hands were shaking, her knuckles showing bone white against her skin.

"I-" he stopped, trying to choose his words carefully, "I don't know," he whispered, almost a confession.

"Right," she said again, but this time he could hear more anger colouring her tone.

"I just don't wish to give you the wrong impression Miriana," he said, savouring the sound of her name, "It was wrong of me to make you believe I feel for you in that...way."

He saw the starburst of pain in her eyes, and it felt like someone was taking a knife to his insides.

"So you don't care for me... that way," she repeated, less of a question and more of a relaization, her voice little more than a whisper.

"No," he said, with as much conviction as he could manage. The lie tasted bitter in his mouth.

She said nothing, merely turned and walked away; he watched the tense line of her shoulders and wished more than anything that he could help soothe her.

"Miriana," he called. She turned around, her face completely devoid of emotion, a perfect mirror of his own, although her eyes were saturated with pain. Her fists were clenched into tight fists, and he thought he saw the slightest tremble in her frame.

"Be careful," he said gently, hoping she would hear his sincerity, how much he wanted her to be safe, "Please," he added.

She regarded him for a few more seconds, then snapped out, "Whatever."

He watched her walk away, and could help but wonder if he'd just made the biggest mistake of his long, lonely existence.


	42. When the Sun Goes Down

_Hi, hope you're all okay. Thanks as always to anyone who's left a reveiw or a favourite, I really appreciate it. I'll try to update again pretty soon, hopefully at the weekend, although it is results day tomorrow and I am crapping my pants somewhat :/ Anyhoo, hope you all enjoy this chapter :)_

"I can't even begin to tell you how crazy you two are," Pamela snapped, sweeping into the room with surprising grace, shouldering past Dean as he held the door open for her.

"Err...well Pamela, you're a sight for sore eyes," Sam said almost awkwardly in a desperate stab at alleviating the tension.

Pamela gave a derisive chuckle and lowered her mirrored sunglasses, showing her completely white plastic eyes. Miriana wished she hadn't chosen them. They brought back bad memories of Lilith.

"Aww that's cute, Grumpy," Pamela snorted, "What do you say to deaf people?"

Miriana had run into Sam after her somewhat ill fated conversation with Castiel, carrying a brown paper bag with painkillers in it which he revealed were for Dean and his concussion after their run in with Alastair. She wasn't at the point where the hysterical tears set in, and she was glad for the distraction of the Winchesters, hoping that they would keep her mind off effectively being rejected by the man she was slowly falling deeper and deeper in love with. Sam had filled her in on everything that had happened, including their confrontation with Alastair, discovering the disappearance of reapers heralded the breaking of a seal, and finally settling on the wonderful idea of astral projecting to solve the problem. Miriana's reaction to this particular revelation to this particular idea had been much the same as Pamela's.

She leaned against the kitchenette work surface and smirked, sensing Pamela's bitch fit coming a mile off. Sam stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets, looking the epitome of awkward, Dean still seeming, as usual, ignorant or just uncaring of the tension.

"Which one of you brainiacs came up with astral projection?" Pamela asked, folding her arms across her chest.

Dean raised his hand, "Yo." Miriana rolled her eyes, and if Pamela still had hers, she guessed she would have rolled them too.

"Of course," Pamela huffed, "Chaci."

"So let's be clear," Pamela began, in a voice that suggested she was about to begin a long winded lecture, "You wanna rip your souls out of your bodies, and take a little stroll through the spirit world?"

Dean shrugged and simply said, "Mmm-hmm," as if this was the most normal thing to do in the world.

Pamela leaned heavily against the back of one of the kitchen chairs, "Do you have any idea how heavy-duty insane that is?"

"Oh believe me, I've told them," Miriana interjected, casting them a dark look, "But it's like speaking to two blocks of very stupid, very uncooperative wood." Dean responded to this with his middle finger.

"Maybe, but that's where the reaper is, so-" Dean began.

"So its nuts," Pamela finished.

"Not if you know what you're doing," Dean said, his voice optimistic.

"You don't know what you're doing," Pamela said in an exasperated tone.

"No," Dean admitted, "But you do."

"Yeah I do," Pamela agreed, "And guess what? I'm sick of being hauled back into your angel-demon soc-greaser crap!" Miriana had to admit she didn't blame her; she hadn't exactly come off well last time she had helped the Winchesters.

"Look, I'd love to be kicking back with a cold one, watching Judge Judy too," Dean snapped. Pamela gave another derisive snort, "Nice. More blind jokes?"

"You know what I mean," said Dean, his voice instantly softening. Pamela said nothing, but Miriana sensed the bitch fit was passing.

"We're talking the end of the world here, okay? No more tasselled leather pants, no more Ramones CD's, no more nothing."

The conversation had taken a sudden, depressing turn, and Miriana felt the despair she had been keeping at bay threaten to overcome her.

"We need your help," Dean said, the faintest note of pleading in his voice.

***

It took Pamela a surprisingly short time to set up for a process as complicated as astral projection. Sam was drawing the gauzy curtains shut over the window when Miriana approached him, lightly touching his arm.

"Are you sure about this?" she asked quietly, carefully reading Sam's face. He sighed.

"What other way is there, Miriana? We can't just let the seal get broken."

At the look on her face, he turned to face her fully and placed his long hands on her shoulders, "We'll be fine, okay? And if not, we're so coming to haunt your ass," he smirked, a wide smile across his lips.

She shook her head, "That is not funny at all," she snapped, although she couldn't quite hide her own smile.

Pamela stretched back in the chair she was sat in as Dean carefully placed black tallow candles around the bed, "Tell me something geniuses. Even if you do break into the veil and you find the reaper, how are you gonna save it?"

"With style and class," Dean replied, his typical evasive answer.

Pamela gave a short laugh, "You're gonna be two walking pieces of fog, you can't touch or move anything. You'll be defenceless, hot shot."

"I seem to recall a bunch of ghosts kicking the crap out of us," Sam said, in a superior tone that suggested he thought he'd won the argument.

"Yeah, they had plenty of time to practice," said Pamela with a heavy sigh.

"Well then, I guess we'd better start cramming," Dean said. Miriana shook her head and muttered "Ridiculous," under her breath. Of all the reckless ideas the Winchesters had had, this just about topped the list.

"Wow!" Pamela mocked, "Couple of heroes."

"All right," Pamela patted the beds in front of her, "Lie down, close your eyes."

Sam and Dean did as they were told, stretching out their long frames on the bed. Miriana watched somewhat apprehensively as Pamela began to chant words of Latin over the Winchesters supine forms. When Pamela finished, Miriana felt that uncomfortable tug of power sweeping through the room, raising the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck. She still didn't completely trust Pamela's whole psychic thing; it unnerved her.

"Okay guys," Pamela announced, "That's it, show time." She ran a hand through her glossy dark curls, waiting in silence Miriana felt it would be best not to break.

"All right," she said suddenly, making Miriana jump, "I'm assuming you're somewhere over the rainbow. Remember I have to bring you back."

She got to her feet, "I'll whisper the incantation in your ear."

She leaned over Sam's still body and whispered something unintelligible in his ear, although knowing Pamela, it was probably some dirty comment.

She then stepped back and settled back into her seat again.

"There they go," Pamela said, rubbing her temples, "God that doesn't half give me a headache."

Automatically Miriana reached into the inside pocket of her leather jacket where she kept her thin silver knife alongside her slim silver hip flask filled with vodka. Miriana was in no way an alcoholic, but it didn't hurt to keep a small amount of alcohol on her person when she felt the urge to take a fortifying swig.

"Here," Miriana said, passing the flask to Pamela, who took it from her carefully and took a quick swig, then coughed and wiped a hand across her mouth.

"God, Miriana you like your strong stuff huh?" she asked, handing the flask back, "Thanks, honey."

Miriana settled into one of the stiff rickety kitchen chairs and rested her hand in her hands. She focused on the pattern of the thin carpet just to stop her mind wandering to the one thing she couldn't bear to think about. It was the kind of thing to mull over when she alone and there was no one around to watch her dissolve into tears. But for now, she was keeping a firm check over her emotions.

"Your aura's murky," Pamela said suddenly, jerking Miriana from her intense study of the carpet, "Really murky. What's up?"

Miriana took a deep breath, searching for the right words to say. She wasn't sure if she wanted to talk about what had happened between her and Castiel, particularly considering she hadn't had chance to think it over yet.

"It's nothing," Miriana said. She opted for the denial. It was a lot easier, "Just worried about Sam and Dean."

"Hmmm," Miriana had the sense that Pamela guessed the problem was more than that, but she didn't press the matter. They both fell silent, the only sounds in the room the distant noises of cars on the road by the motel and the rhythmic sound of their breathing.

"It wouldn't be that pretty, blue eyed angel by any chance?" Pamela asked casually, her voice brewing with insinuations. Miriana rolled her eyes, glad Pamela couldn't see her.

"How the hell do you do that?" she asked, incredulous.

Pamela tapped a shiny black nail against her forehead, "Psychic, honey."

Miriana sighed, but said nothing.

"Well?" Pamela pressed.

"Yes it is," she admitted, feeling her throat constrict a little. It was painful to think about him right at this moment.

"You've kissed him haven't you?" she guessed, again exercising her considerable psychic talent. Or perhaps she just knew Miriana so well.

"Yes," said Miriana, aware that her voice had taken on a wistful lilt.

"Well?" Pamela asked again, a mischievous smile playing around her lips.

Miriana frowned, "Well what?"

"Well, how was it?" Pamela questioned.

"It was..." Miriana paused for a few seconds as she lost herself in that particular, warm memory, "Nice."

Pamela leaned forward in her chair with the air of an excited schoolgirl finding out the latest high school gossip, "How did he kiss you?" she asked.

The conversation was frustrating her to no end, "What?"

"Well, was it a gentle, chaste little kiss or was it a passionate throw-you-on-the-bed, gotta-have-you-right now kind of thing?"

Miriana choked at Pamela's choice of words, "Well it definitely wasn't the last one," she said, "But I wouldn't have exactly said it was the first one, either."

Pamela let out a burst of laughter, "Well Miriana, I never thought I'd see the day when you would corrupt a soldier of God."

"Yeah, well..." Miriana grumbled, tailing off.

"But honey, why are you so upset?" she asked leaning forwards in her chair and taking Miriana's hand in her own, "It seems like a good thing."

Miriana felt the burn of tears, "I...I can't talk about it right now," she whispered.

Pamela nodded in understanding, then gently reached up and brushed her cheek with the back of her hand, "It'll work out sweetie," she said softly, "Whatever it is."

Miriana was incredibly grateful for her presence. Pamela had always been a balm for her raw emotion, all throughout her painful adolescence and her adulthood.

"Thank you," Miriana said quietly, and Pamela withdrew her hand and settled back into her chair. For an hour or so, Miriana channel surfed while Pamela plugged her iPod into her ears and descended into silence. After a while, Miriana felt incredibly bored. She got up, stretching, and leaned over Dean's supine figure. He just looked like he was fast asleep, his breathing very deep and even.

"I am so tempted to draw all over his face right now," Miriana said loud enough for Pamela to hear, "Or maybe dye Sam's hair."

Pamela let out a loud laugh, "I'm thinking maybe bubblegum pink."

They fell into silence once again, punctuated suddenly by the loud growl of Pamela's stomach.

Miriana let out a snort of laughter, "Hungry, huh?"

"Starving," she replied, "I did have a good evening planned tonight, until the Hardy Boys rung up." Miriana could sense more than a little annoyance in her tone. She reached for her keys. Much like Dean, Pamela did not operate so well on an empty stomach.

"I'll go and grab you something," she assured, heading for the door. Just as she walked through it, Pamela shouted,

"Something with lots of calories," she called, then added after a brief pause, "And cheese!"

***

Miriana had driven to the nearest fast food outlet with her Joan Jett CD blasting out of the speakers. If she was alone in the quiet, without someone to talk to our music vibrating her skull, she knew she would start thinking about him. And it was too painful to even contemplate it, so she kept the waves of music thundering over her.

The diner was quiet when she went in, just a waitress, two chefs in the kitchen and two customers seated opposite each other at a table nearest the door. She stood behind the counter, scanning the menu displayed on the table top, deciding which had the highest fat content and matched Pamela's criteria.

"Can I help you?" asked the young, over bubbly waitress behind the counter, flashing Miriana a wide, bright smile that made Miriana uneasy. In fact the whole atmosphere in the diner made a shiver race up her spine.

"Err...yes I'll have the cheese mega burger with extra bacon please," she replied, replacing the plastic coated menu on the counter. The waitress didn't budge. Yes, there was definitely something wrong.

"I don't think I can do that for you right now," the waitress continued in that falsely bright tone, her smile still in place.

"Err...alright, I'll go somewhere else," she said, turning around. One of the men by the door got up and locked in, the scrape of the key in the lock grating harshly through the tense silence.

"I don't think so honey," said the waitress, her voice like honey laced over steel, "You're not going anywhere."

Every pair of eyes in the room flashed a flat liquid black, dead as a shark's eyes.

"Oh bollocks," sighed Miriana.

***

"Take a seat," suggested the waitress, flipping her glossy blond hair, walking out from behind the counter and standing in front of her.

"I'll stand thanks," spat Miriana.

"Really, _sit,_" she spat, shoving Miriana hard in her chest so she thumped backwards into a chair, pushed behind her by one of the demons. She was really in trouble now.

The blond woman cocked her head, the awful grin still plastered across her face. Miriana had never understood how demons could make such human features seem so completely inhuman.

"I know who you are," she stated, matter of factly.

"Really? That famous am I?" Miriana asked running through the weapons she had on her; knife, vial of holy water...that was about it.

"Oh yeah," the demon replied, leaning against the counter, "Right little celebrity you are, Miriana. Well, what else can you expect when you run with a crowd like the Winchesters. Or when you piss off somebody like Reuben by wounding his ego. He doesn't like his prey to get away from him, you know."

At the sound of his name, Miriana's throat tightened, "Reuben?" she managed to say.

"Yep," the demon said, "He's just dying to get his hands on you. In all manners of the word."

She shuddered, remembering the cold, slimy feel of his hands running over her exposed skin. She could quite clearly imagine what he would like to do to her, and the thought of it sent the bile rising up her throat.

The demon inspected her perfectly manicured nails, "Oh man, he's gonna be so annoyed when he finds out it was me that killed you. But you know how it is; I'm under orders to kill any hunter in this town. Something real big is going down tonight. Besides, he can't touch me. I'm under Alastair's protection." She said it with real smugness in her voice, as if she wanted Miriana to be jealous of such a thing.

"Alastair, huh?" Miriana said, trying to stop the shudder of repulsion that went through her when she said his name, "What's he up to then?" She knew perfectly well, but she decided it might be best to keep playing stupid. It might give away Pamela and the Winchesters, defenceless in their current state.

The demon let out a cold laugh, "Don't play dumb, sweetie. I think you know full well."

Miriana sighed, "The breaking of a seal."

"Damn straight," the demon said, practically bouncing with glee, "Do you have any idea how exciting that is?"

Miriana's lips twisted into a bitter smile, "Yeah, I'm positively _dying_ with happiness."

"Oh you'll be dying in a minute, don't you worry about that," the demon said, reaching behind the counter and pulling out a long, ugly looking knife. What was it with demons and their fondness of huge, evil looking blades?

"You know, the apocalypse is gonna be beautiful," the demon said, a wistful, faraway look in her eyes, like she was reliving memories of a wonderful holiday, "Like a revolution."

"A revolution?" Miriana spat out, "More like the end of the world."

"For you and the rest of your snivelling race, perhaps. But for us," she waved the knife at the demons flanking her, "it's the beginning."

"How d'you figure that?" Miriana asked, subtly scanning her eyes around the room. Keep her talking, and maybe she could surprise them enough to get to the fire door near the kitchen.

"When Lucifer comes," she said his name with complete reverence, "He's gonna reward us all for carrying out his noble work."

"Not if the Winchesters get to Lilith," she said, calculating how fast she could move, and whether or not the demons were quicker.

"Ah of course, the fabled Winchesters," the demon said, a cold mocking edge in her voice, "I don't see the greatness myself. They're both so damaged. Especially Dean," she tutted, "Ooh you should have seen the things he did in Hell. Very bad boy."

Miriana frowned, trying to work out if she was bluffing, "Yeah well, they'll stop you this time, trust me."

The demon laughed, and even the others joined her, adding their cold chuckles to the mix, "You think we don't know where they are, trapped in astral projection? And your little blind friend with them."

Miriana felt her heart sink from her chest and settle somewhere in her stomach.

"You shouldn't have left them alone," she said moving forwards, "For all of your sakes."

She held the knife out, the glittering tip inches from Miriana chest. Miriana saw her opportunity and took it. In one quick movement she took the vial of holy water from her pocket and threw the contents over the demons face. She shrieked in registers so high the glass in the cups on the tables quivered and she staggered backwards, clutching her face. One of the other demons lunged for her, but she pulled the silver knife from her pocket and drove the blade in up to the handle in the soft skin of his neck, and he roared with pain and the silver seared against his flesh. She wrenched the knife out, and he collapsed onto the floor, holding a hand over the burning, weeping wound. Another demon swung for her, but she ducked under his arm and kneed him in the groin, sending him crashing to the floor with a grunt of pain. She vaulted over the counter and just managed to dodge from one of the chefs grabbing hands, wrenched the door back and sprinted across the car park to her car. She managed to get to the bonnet, when she felt a pair of thick arms fold across her chest, pulling her backwards. With every ounce of strength she had, she put both feet on the bonnet of her car and pushed back, hard. The both of them tumbled backwards, Miriana driving the air out of the demons lungs, giving her the chance to break his stranglehold. She got to her feet and practically threw herself into the driving seat, burning rubber as she pulled out of the parking lot. She slammed down hard on the accelerator, hoping against hope that she wasn't too late.


	43. Cold as You

_Hi, hope you all enjoy this chapter, and thanks as always to everyone who's left a reveiw or a favourite, hope you're all still enjoying it. Thanks and hugs!:)_

Miriana threw herself out of the car and raced towards the motel, pushing past some indignant maids who were cleaning the reception. She turned into the corridor, counting the doors until she found the Winchester's motel room.

For a fleeting second, she thought that everything had gone to plan and the Winchesters were back on their usual astral plane. Then she noticed that Dean was still lying prone on the bed, saw the demon lying on the floor, blank eyes staring up at the dirty grey ceiling, then her eyes fell to Pamela. At first glance, she looked fine, no blood staining her clothes, but Miriana saw the way that she was holding her stomach, doubled over on the floor.

"Oh, please, no," she whispered to herself. At the sound of Miriana's voice, Pamela gave a short laugh.

"What's so funny?" Sam asked, kneeling on the floor next to Pamela.

"I can't die," Pamela said breathlessly, "Not in this town. Look."

She pulled the rip in her Ramones top aside and showed the pale bloodless gash underneath where the blade had sunk into her stomach. She coughed, an awful harsh sound and tried to stagger to her feet. Miriana had to lean against the kitchenette table for support. This couldn't be happening. Pamela had always seemed so indestructible.

"Pamela..." Sam began, but she shut him up with wave of her hand.

"Quit your worrying, grumpy," she grumbled, "How about you make me a drink, huh?"

"You need a doctor," Sam reprimanded, and Miriana immediately reached for her car keys, which she had thrown onto the table when she had burst into the room. If they got her there quick enough, she'd be fine. Miriana kept chanting that over and over in her head.

Pamela gripped Sam's shoulder hard, "Make me a drink Sam."

"I'll get it," Miriana blurted out. Just to give herself anything to do. She grabbed the bottle of whiskey from the kitchenette sideboard and pulled a glass from the cupboard. Her hands were shaking so badly she could barely pour the amber liquid into the glass without spilling it. She handed it to Pamela, who drank the entire glass down in one go. She struggled to her feet, batting away Miriana's hand and staggered over to Dean's bed, perching on the end. She recited the Latin words needed to bring Dean back, clutching her stomach as if every tiny movement was a tremendous effort. Pamela pulled a silver hip flask from her pocket and took a long swig with trembling hands, and eased off Dean's bed, supported by Sam, and leaned heavily against the sideboard.

"We just gotta talk to Tessa, get her to hold off reaping until we get you better," Sam said. Miriana had the feeling that that particular plan wouldn't work; she'd seen how relentless death was.

Pamela shook her head and leaned back against the sideboard, "I'm pretty sure she started up again."

Both Sam and Miriana glanced down, and Miriana felt her stomach drop when she saw the dark, scarlet blood running over Pamela's fingers and soaking into the fabric of her shirt. There was a lot of blood, enough to tell Miriana that the wound ran deep.

On the other bed, Dean jerked awake, gasping air into his lungs. His eyes went from Pamela, to Sam, then Miriana, and realization dawned on his face. The blood was still flowing, so much that Pamela's jeans and top were drenched in it.

"What happened?" asked Dean, leaning forwards on the bed.

Sam ignored his question, "Dean, where's Tessa?"

"She's-" he didn't finish his sentence, but she could tell by the look on his face that Tessa was back and reaping with vigour.

Pamela took off her mirrored sunglasses and heaved a deep sigh.

"Pamela," Sam began, his voice tense, "I'm so sorry."

"Stop," she said. Miriana felt the burn of tears behind her eyes.

"You don't deserve this," Sam mumbled.

"Yeah I don't," Pamela said, pointing an accusing finger at Dean, "I told you I didn't want anything to do with this."

None of them said anything, and Dean dropped his eyes to the carpet, away from Pamela's face.

"Do me a favour," Pamela said, "Tell that bastard Bobby Singer to go to hell for ever introducing me to you two in the first place."

She dissolved into a coughing fit that racked her whole body and sounded horribly like a death rattle.

Dean held out his hand, "Take it easy Pamela."

"If it's any consolation, you're going to a better place," Dean said, although Miriana wasn't quite sure she believed the conviction in his voice.

Apparently Pamela heard the lie in his voice too, "You're lying. But what the hell, right? Everybody's gotta go sometime."

Every breath was a wheeze, and Miriana could hear the gurgle of blood.

She held her hand out to Sam, "Come here."

Dean exchanged a confused glance with Miriana, who simply shook her head in response. She felt the first tears roll down her cheeks. Sam leaned towards Pamela, who pulled him closer, so that her mouth was right beside his ear. Miriana couldn't hear what she was saying, but she saw Pamela's dark green eyes fill with tears over Sam's shoulder, and when Sam pulled back, his face was ashen, his eyes wide. Pamela coughed again, and spat out a mouthful of thick blood onto the floor, gasping for breath. Miriana had to keep her hand pressed over her mouth to stop herself from sobbing. It wouldn't help the situation.

Pamela coughed once more, then her head went limp, and the uneven rise and fall of her chest fell still. Miriana couldn't stop herself from letting out a little sob.

"Pamela?" Dean asked. No reply. "Pamela?!"

Dean blinked a few times, as if hoping he could open his eyes and Pamela would somehow be miraculously alive.

"What did she say to you?" he asked, but Sam gave no reply. Instead, he got to his feet and pulled Miriana into his arms. She turned her face into Sam's broad shoulder and soaked his shirt with salty tears, feeling as if something had just punched a hole in her chest. It had been impossible to ignore the way Dean had looked at Sam when he hadn't answered his question; like the man stood before him wasn't his brother, but a stranger.

***

The day of Pamela's funeral was a dull, miserable day, the sky ashen with clouds that threatened rain that never fell. There had been more people at the tiny white church than she had expected, hunters and psychics she vaguely knew through her aunt. She stood next to the Winchesters all through the service, both of them dressed in the sober black suits they used whenever they were impersonating FBI agents. Miriana barely owned anything except for weathered jeans and shirt, but, like the Winchesters she opted for the black pencil skirt and fitted suit jacket and blouse she used whenever she wanted information out of the police. The skirt seemed a little too short and the blouse cut too low for a funeral, but it was the only thing she had. She didn't think Pamela would mind; in fact she guessed Pamela would have preferred her to come in leather pants, dressed like an eighty's hair metal icon. She probably wouldn't have been happy with the dreary church organ as a choice of music either, but probably would have wanted Highway to Hell by AC/DC. Go out with a bang right?

Miriana hadn't applied her usual smoky eyeliner, knowing that she would only end up looking like she had two black eyes. She even tamed down her ruffled short hair and had combed it flat and sleek. She didn't feel like herself at all.

The funeral finished late in the afternoon, leaving Miriana feeling listless and at a loss for anything to do. Sam and Dean left straight after the funeral, heading for the motel they were staying in the next town over. Miriana didn't feel like heading back for motel yet, not in the mood to sit and stare blankly at the walls until she felt tired enough to fall asleep, so she hugged the tow of them goodbye and instead of heading for her car, she wandered around the rambling church graveyard. It was surprising that the presence of the dead, lying in the cold ground around her could be so oddly comforting. The air was heavy with the threat of thunder and lightning, and every so often she would hear the faint grumble of thunder, far in the distance. Finding a crumbling wooden bench, she carefully perched on it, afraid that it might collapse under her full weight. She felt guilty that she hadn't cried at Pamela's funeral, but it seemed she had cried herself out over the past week, until there was nothing left. The worst part of it was, some of those tears hadn't even been for Pamela, but someone else completely, although she resolutely tried to ignore. She kept her mind off him as much as possible, but she couldn't deny that his rejection had cut deep, deeper than she would have thought possible.

She wasn't sure how long she had been sat there before he appeared, suddenly and silently, a few feet away. He didn't say anything at first, but silently and gracefully moved to sit next to her on the bench. It took a great amount of effort not to look into his eyes; she knew if she did, those carefully crafted barriers she had constructed around her feelings would collapse. She kept her eyes trained on the ground.

"I'm sorry about Pamela," he said quietly.

"No, you're not," she said, her voice hoarse from barely talking over the last week, "You don't know what sorry is."

"I-" he began, but Miriana cut across him, her voice rising in volume.

"You don't know what grief is, love, guilt, pain, any of it," she stood up, "And besides, why would even care? We humans are just pawns to you, aren't we? Far below your higher status of being."

She tried to turn away, but somehow he was in front of her, his hand gently gripping her arm.

"Please don't be like this," he implored, "Please don't be angry."

"Why?" she snapped, pulling her arm free of his grip, "Why do you care if I'm angry?"

He didn't say anything, just lowered his stormy eyes to the ground. Miriana felt the first fat drops of rain begin to splatter against her head.

"Why are you even here?" she was horrified to feel hot tears running down her cheeks, "I thought you said your superiors had expressed, what was it, 'concerns'?"

"They don't know I'm here yet," he replied.

Miriana blinked a few more tears out of her eyes, "Then you'd better scurry back up there then."

Again, she tried to turn away but he took her arm again, pulling her back, a little more forcefully this time. He saw the tears on her cheeks, and his eyes flared with anguish.

"Don't...don't cry," he said softly. He reached out to brush the trails away from her cheek, but she flinched away, and he dropped his hand to the side. She didn't want him to touch her, didn't want the painful thoughts the memory of his fingers on her skin dredged up. The anger of his rejection flared through her again. The rain fell heavier, so her suit jacket and blouse stuck to her skin.

"Just go away," she snapped, "I didn't ask for your sympathy and I don't want it."

"I just wanted to-"

"To what?!" she asked, ignoring the way he flinched at the venom in her voice, "To comfort me? And what exactly is your idea of comfort? A kiss? Or was that just something you felt like trying, since you had some spare time. Might as well slum it with the human girl, she's too stupid to know any better, just like the rest of her race."

He looked horrified, "I'd never think that."

"Well Uriel certainly seems to think that, why should you be any different? He's already threatened me once about 'tainting' you, I don't need another warning. It's perfectly clear what you and the rest of your brothers and sisters think of us."

She turned and walked away head bowed against the now lashing rain, and this time he didn't stop her. She bit her lip and squeezed her eyes tight shut to stop the flow of tears, determined not to let him her hear her cry. Right at that moment, she didn't think he was worth the tears.


	44. Another Hole in the Head

_Hi, hope you're all okay :) A massive thanks to eveyone who's reveiwed as always! I meant to update sooner and with a longer chapter but I've had an insanely busy weekend; I had an eighteenth birthday party on Friday and two other parties this weekend, so 've had a lot to do! I'll update more next week I hope! Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter :)_

Miriana had stripped off her soaked clothes back at her motel room and taken a long hot shower, the water turned up to boiling, the way she liked it when she felt so exhausted. She fell asleep halfway through watching a re-run of The Simpsons and woke up a few hours later, stretched across her bed, the TV now into an episode of CSI Miami. She had stopped crying the second she had got in the shower, determined to return to some sort of semblance of normality. That was the way Miriana dealt with things, she would let her feelings come spilling out of her when she was alone, then after a little while, she would take those feelings and lock them away deep inside of her, and carry on. She often wondered if one day she would snap and have some kind of a minor psychotic episode. She certainly felt like she might do at times.

She reached across and checked her phone, and groaned when she saw that she had seven missed calls from Sam. Deciding it might be better to see him face to face, she rolled off the bed and headed for the door, grabbing her leather jacket on the way. The Winchesters were only staying a few doors down, so she walked the short distance across the concrete and knocked on the door to find an agitated looking Sam on the other side, his shoulders drawn tight with stress.

"I'm really sorry I missed your calls, I fell asleep," a quick glance around the room told her that Dean wasn't there, "Where's Dean?"

Sam heaved a great sigh, "Come in."

She stepped into the room, feeling incredibly apprehensive, "What's going on?"

"It's the angels," Sam replied, "They've taken Dean, and there's no way in hell I can find him."

Miriana took a few seconds to process this information, "What? Why have they taken him?"

"Angels are dying, lots of them. Cas and Uriel," Miriana noticed he said their names with a considerable amount of contempt, which Miriana had to admit she was feeling too, "Think that the demons are responsible."

Miriana shrugged, "Well then why don't they just kick the demons around a bit until they tell them. I mean, they can just destroy the demons with a blink, what the hell do they want Dean for?"

Sam heaved another sigh, "They have Alastair, but he isn't talking, and they want Dean to torture the truth out of him."

This statement hung in the air, pressing down on Miriana like a dead weight. Of all the problems she could possibly have conceived, this was not what she would have imagined.

"Torture? What?"

Sam sat down heavily on the nearest chair, "He never talked about Hell with you, did he?"

Miriana shook her head, "No, and I never asked. I figured it would be too painful."

Sam rubbed a hand across his face, "Well he told me, about everything he did in Hell. All of it. He tortured people Miriana. Just like he had been tortured. Alastair let him off the rack when he agreed to torture for him."

Miriana felt like she had just been punched in the stomach and she slumped into the chair opposite Sam, needing the support of the chair underneath her. She never could have imagined how terrible Deans' ordeal in Hell was; she cursed her naivety and her inability to see how broken Dean was. She felt faintly nauseous.

"I...I had no idea," she whispered.

Sam leaned back in his chair, "I have to find him, Miriana. He can't do this, it'll kill him, break him all over again."

Miriana stood up, "Right, we need to think of a way to find Dean. I know a psychic a few towns over who can help us. I mean, I know the angels are difficult to find, but this guy's great, trust me."

Sam remained silent.

"Well? Are we going to see this psychic or not?"

"Yeah, sounds like a great idea," Sam said, his voice quiet, picking at a loose thread in his jeans.

"Well don't get too excited, Sam," she snapped, "You might hurt yourself."

He stood up, looking awkward, his broad shoulders tense,"Well, it's just, I called Ruby. I figured she could help us."

It took every ounce of effort Miriana had to keep her voice calm, not to scream and shout and throw things at Sam.

"I see," was all she trusted herself to say. She couldn't bear the thought of working alongside that manipulative liar. The very thought of it made her blood boil in her veins.

"Look Miriana, she knows things, okay? All kinds of rituals, and she's helped us more times than I can count."

Miriana headed towards the door, "Whatever Sam. Clearly you don't need my help, I'll just be on my way."

He held out his hand, "Miriana wait. Come with me and Ruby, okay?"

Miriana rubbed her temples, "I can't work with her, Sam. I can't even bear the sight of her."

Sam rolled his eyes, "Why?" He said, exasperated, "Why do you and Dean have this grudge?"

"Because she's a demon, Sam, and they lie and cheat and manipulate every one they come across, and I can't bear to see that happening to you."

"She's not manipulating me," he sighed.

"You may not see it, Sam, but you've changed since you've met her. She's twisted you, and I'm terrified she'll change you so much I won't recognize you anymore."

He didn't say anything to this, but he dropped his eyes to the carpet. Miriana sighed heavily and opened the door.

"Call me if you find Dean, okay?" she called over her shoulder as she stepped out the door and slammed it firmly behind her.

She stormed along the sidewalk, coming to abrupt halt when she saw the obnoxious sulphur yellow car parked a few spaces away. Miriana swore under her breath when she saw the small, dark haired figured climb gracefully out of the car, slamming the car door and locking it behind her. She took a deep breath and kept on walking, fully intending to ignore Ruby.

"Well fancy seeing you here," Ruby said, leaning against the side of her car, "I take it you're looking for Dean too?"

"Go screw yourself," Miriana snarled, turning her back on Ruby and continuing to storm down the pavement. Ruby said nothing in reply to this, but she heard her let out a cold, cruel laugh. It took all the self restraint Miriana had not to take the gun out of her jacket and unload the entire clip right into Ruby's smug face.

It didn't take long for Miriana to pack up her belongings and load them into the boot of her car. She was checking over her room one last time when she turned to leave, only to find the doorway blocked by a familiar figure.

Unusually, her heart didn't do its usual back flip in her chest at the sight of him; she suspected her fury and hurt overpowered any other emotions she had.

"What did I say to you about leaving me alone?" she snapped. His face remained expressionless, but she saw something flash across his eyes briefly.

"I know, but I just needed to speak to you, about Dean. I know what you're thinking but we need him to do this, we need his help," he was speaking quickly, as if he was trying to get everything out before she cut across him.

"Whatever, Cas," she muttered, pushing him out of the doorway and heading for her car. He followed her, constantly jabbering away in a beseeching voice whilst she resolutely did her best to ignore him.

"We're not doing this because we want to hurt him, but he's only one that can help. Please you have to understand, Miriana, you have to-"

"For God's sake, shut up," she barked, briefly wondering if he would be offended by the blasphemy. Her sharp tone worked though. He instantly stopped talking.

"Look, I really don't care how important this is to you and the other angels. All I know is that I care about Dean and I won't let him go through this, however necessary you think it is."

She yanked open her car door, but he placed his hand over the top of it, preventing her from shutting it no matter how hard she tugged on the handle. Damn, he was strong.

"What are you planning on doing?" he asked, a slightly harder edge in his voice. Miriana gave up trying to slam the car door shut and leaned back against the frame.

"I don't suppose you're going to tell me where Dean is?" she asked, knowing full well what his answer would be before he replied.

"No," his reply was curt.

"I thought so," she mumbled, "In that case I'm going to a psychic a few towns over and he'll find wherever you've stashed Dean."

He kept his hand over the top of the car door, "And then what do you plan on doing?"

It suddenly struck her that her plan had several gaping holes in it, "Then, I'll...I'll...I'll think of something when I get there."

"It's dangerous," he said quietly, "Don't get involved."

Miriana snorted, "Screw you, you can't tell me what to do."

He moved his hand from the car door and brushed it against her cheek, "Please," he breathed. The feel of his gentle fingers on her skin made her heart flutter in her chest and her legs feel weak, no matter how hard she tried to stop it. She looked up at his eyes and the conflict she saw in them made her feel incredibly guilty for a few seconds. _Focus,_ snapped a voice in the back of her head. She mustered up her self control and threw herself into the front seat, jamming the keys into the ignition. The engine flared into life, and Cas wisely stepped out of the way before she ran him over, throwing the car into reverse and pulling out of the car park with a screech of brakes and the choking smell of burning rubber.

***

Miriana was in a tremendously pissed off mood, or as Dean would put it, she was undergoing a bitch fit of the century.

She broke several speed limits driving to AJ's house, all the while hammering Metallica out of her car speakers. She hadn't seen the psychic for over a year, and the last time she had seen him he had stolen her credit card and gone on a three day bender in Las Vegas on Miriana's dollar. According to him he still had the scars from the day she tracked him down and got her credit card back, with a considerable amount of force and gratuitous use of her fists. She reckoned her owed her, big time.

Her encounter with Cas had put her in an even fouler mood than she had been before. Her anxiety and concern for Dean had somehow morphed into boiling anger for anyone and everyone around her. Truthfully, she was absolutely terrified for him. Sam's revelation about what Dean had done in hell left Miriana feeling like somebody had scooped out her insides, leaving her hollow. She couldn't even begin to comprehend how badly that must screw with somebody's head. Dean must be an incredibly strong person; if she had undergone what he had, she would be nothing but a quivering, broken husk of a person vegetating in some mental hospital, no doubt. She wondered how Dean managed to keep it together on a regular basis with breaking down into hysterical screams.

She pulled to a stop outside AJ's house, climbing out and cursing when she tripped over a pile of cracked beer bottles scattered through the long, unkempt grass. He clearly hadn't got any cleaner over the past year.

"Jesus Christ," she muttered, casting her eyes over the rubbish strewn garden, empty plastic bags, battered cans and several smashed garden gnomes littered across the dull grass. Over in the furthest corner of the garden, a deck chair was lying, half in and half out of a tangle of vicious looking weeds. She picked her way down the paved path leading to the house, being careful to step over any flags that were jutting up from the ground. When she finally reached the door, she hammered on it, causing a large amount of paint flakes to flutter to the dilapidated porch. There was no answer from the inside the house.

"AJ, open the goddamn door!" she shouted, giving the door a frustrated kick. There was the sound of muffled footsteps behind the door.

"Who is it?" he called.

"The bloody tooth fairy, now open the door," she snapped, giving it another kick just to emphasize her point.

There was a loud scraping and rattling on the other side of the door, then AJ's face appeared around the side of the door. She noticed he'd left the chain on. She guessed she still scared him.

"Oh God," he muttered at the sight of her furious face, "No thanks, not tonight."

He shut the door forcefully. Miriana sucked a deep breath into her lungs and pinched the bridge of her nose, forcing herself to remain calm.

"If you don't open this door, I will break it down," she said, maintaining the quiet tone of her voice with great effort.

"Whatever, babe. I'm not getting involved with you, again. Do you remember New Orleans? You and Cristian just waltzed away from that demon looking like Hollywood's golden couple. And me? My left ass cheek has never been the same since."

Miriana rolled her eyes, "That was an accident, Cristian never meant to shoot you in the arse. His finger slipped on the trigger."

AJ gave a derisive snort, "Yeah right. No sorry, I'm not offering my services today."

Miriana thumped her head against the doorframe in frustration, "Look, you just need to do one thing for me."

"No."

"You owe me," she shouted through the door, "You stole my credit card, remember? And you still haven't paid back all the money you racked up on it."

"Err...yeah about that, I'll send it you in the post. Now piss off."

It was the wrong thing to say to Miriana when she was in the black mood she was in. She took a step back and threw herself at the door with all the strength she had. The lock snapped and the door crashed inwards, scattering splinters all over the grungy carpet in the hallway. AJ came rushing into the room, wearing nothing but a dressing gown and slippers and holding a bag of cheetos in one hand and a beer in the other. There was a light layer of stubble across his face and his hair resembled something like a birds nest.

"What the hell is wrong with you, you psycho bitch?" he gestured at the door, hanging off its rusty hinges and bent in the middle, "You're paying for that."

She took a step towards him, "I don't think so. Besides I'm doing you a favour, that door would barely hold up under a gust of wind. Now, while I'm here, how about you help me out with that favour I was talking about, huh?"

AJ put his beer bottle and packet of Cheetos down in the nearest sideboard and folded his arms, "No."

She covered the distance in two huge steps, grabbed him by the front of his grotty dressing gown and slammed against the wall so hard several of the pictures hanging on the wall fell on the floor and smashed. He winced.

"Alright, listen you little weed," she hissed, "I'm in a really bad mood and I'm dealing with heaven and hell and demons and injuries and I really don't need this. So how about you help me out, or I'm going to shoot you where you really don't want me to. And I'm not talking about your right arse cheek."

He hesitated for a few seconds, so to get her point across, Miriana pulled her gun out of her jacket and waved it in front of his face.

"You've convinced me, babe," he said, his eyes watching her gun apprehensively, "Now How can I help?"

***

It took him less than half an hour for AJ to set up whatever apparatus he needed to locate Dean, and Miriana hovered in the corner, watching as he pored over a huge map of North America, muttering to himself.

"Got it," he said triumphantly, leaning back in his chair, "These angels really don't care who sees their dirty work. That was far easier than I thought."

"So?" Miriana prompted.

AJ shrugged, "So, what?"

"Where is he?"

AJ took a swig of his beer, "Well, you know, that really took it out of me, and I really need to pay rent this month..."

"You little bastard," she spat, "You..."

She couldn't be bothered to argue with him; she was just desperate to find Dean and very aware that time was ticking away. Sighing heavily, she pulled her purse from her jacket and dropped a twenty dollar bill on the table in front of AJ. He didn't move, just looked up at her expectantly. Swearing, she dropped another twenty dollars on the table, but he still didn't move.

"I hope you rot in hell you little sod" she growled, dropping two more twenty's on the table, which he collected, grinning like the Chesire cat.

He handed her a piece of paper with a hastily scribbled address across it, which she snatched out of his hands.

"You've got way too much money, Miriana," he said, tucking the money into the top pocket of his dressing gown. Giving him her best disgusted face, she turned and headed towards the battered door.

"Oh, and I'll send you that money in the post," he called, sniggering. It took a lot of will power for Miriana not to turn around and make good on her promise to shoot him.


	45. The Sharpest Lives

_Hey, hope you enjoy this chapter. Thanks to everyone who's left a reveiw or a favourite; I wish I could give you all big hugs! :)_

Castiel had been dreading facing Miriana after he discovered she had learned what they wanted with Dean, and with good reason; it had gone worse than he could have imagined. She was at the point where she barely spoke to him and when she looked at him, there was nothing behind her eyes except the occasional flash of fury. He tried to tell himself that it was what he wanted, that it was better for them both. But he was finding it very difficult to convince himself that her disconnection from him was a good thing. It was the exact opposite; it hurt like hell. He was missing the intimacy they'd had before he'd pushed her away, missed the way she'd looked at him before.

He stood forlornly outside the room where Dean was torturing Alastair, trying to block the screams from his ears and focus on something else. The noise of the demon's agonised cries brought memories of his visit to hell when he rescued Dean; he could practically smell the blood and sulphur in his nose and feel the searing heat of the flames against his skin. It made the bile rise in his throat. He wished he could get away from the dull, barren room he was trapped in, but he was under express orders not to leave the room unguarded, and since Uriel had vanished since he returned from seeing Miriana, he had no choice but to stay outside the room.

He leaned against the table, splaying his hands out on the surface. He wondered how long he had been stood outside the room. It felt like hours, although he suspected it wasn't that long. The lights above him flickered, and the one beside him burst, sending a stream of sparks cascading to the floor. He didn't need to turn around to know who was stood behind him; he could sense her presence a mile away.

"Anna," he stated.

"Hello, Castiel," she said, her voice calm.

He glanced quickly over his shoulder, to see Anna still looked like the human Anna Milton, although there was something in her eyes that screamed she was far from human.

"Your human body..." he began, turning away from her.

"It was destroyed, I know," she finished, walking towards him, "But...I guess I'm sentimental. Called in some old favours, and..."

He kept his eyes off her. He hated the guilt he felt when looked at her.

"You shouldn't be here," he said, desperately trying to think of something to say to make her leave, "We still have orders to kill you."

That part was true. Anna still had a high price on her head for her disobedience.

"Somehow, I don't think you'll try," she said. That was also true. He knew he could be cold and heartless, but he didn't think even he could go so far as to murder his old friend. Back in that barn, he had been fully expecting Uriel to kill her, not himself. He knew he couldn't have done it.

She walked gracefully around the table, "Where's Uriel?"

"He went to receive revelation," he replied.

"Right." Anna faced the door behind which was the torture chamber; Alastair continued to groan and yell with pain. He knew Anna was thinking about Dean; he gathered something had passed between the two of them. She turned to face him, her green eyes stormy.

"Why are you letting Dean do this?" she asked. He took a deep breath, trying to think of the right word to say.

"He's doing God's work," he said quietly, turning away from Anna. He wasn't sure if he entirely believed it.

"Torturing? Anna snapped, and her tone of voice reminded him so much of Miriana he had to remind himself who he was talking to, "That's God's work? Stop him, Cas, please. Before you ruin the one real weapon you have."

"Who are we to question the will of God?" he said, determinedly keeping his back turned to her.

"Unless this isn't his will," Anna said quietly.

"Then where do the orders come from?"

"I don't know," Anna replied, "One of our superiors, maybe. But not him."

At that moment, Alastair let out a particularly loud scream of agony that faded into weak gurgles. Castiel leaned heavily against the table again, feeling suddenly exhausted. Anna leaned towards him, her hand next to his on the table.

"The father you love-you think he wants this? You think he'd ask this of you?" her voice was imploring, her eyes intense, "You think this is righteous?"

He couldn't answer; his head was just too full of things he couldn't understand, a complicated muddle of emotion.

"What you're feeling," Anna began, moving a little closer, "It's called doubt."

He shut his eyes, trying to focus on his responsibilities, the only thing that felt straightforward and made sense to him at that moment. He felt Anna's hand cover his, her fingers playing over his knuckles.

"These orders are wrong, and you know it," she said, dropping her voice low, "But you can do the right thing."

He looked away, "You're afraid Cas. I was too. But together we can st-"

He felt her hand move up to his wrist, resting over his pulse, and looking away from Anna, he could almost imagine it was Miriana's hands resting over his, and the thought made a burst of irrational anger flare up in his chest. The only person he would be willing to rebel against heaven for was Miriana, not this angel who had fallen and cast away the privileges of heaven for no foreseeable reason that he could fathom.

"Together?" he cut across her. He wrenched his hand out from underneath hers and stepped back, feeling anger boiling his veins like acid.

"I am nothing like you," he snarled, walking away from her, "You fell. Go."

She tried one last time, "Cas..." she started.

He turned back to face her and said more firmly, "Go."

She took his advice, and vanished with barely a sound. The anger left him the second she was gone, leaving him feeling oddly drained and cold, shivering in the room whilst Alastair continued to scream.

***

It took Miriana less time than she expected to reach the address AJ had given her. She drove to a halt outside a battered, rusted warehouse. What was it with demons and angels and the run down warehouses that they loved so much? She took a deep breath, wondering what she would see if she walked inside. She knew she would have to face Cas, and she had to admit she was slightly afraid. She'd seen his face outside her motel room when she'd said she would track Dean down, heard the steely edge of anger in his voice. She wondered how furious he would be with her, and it made her shiver a little. Checking her gun and knife were firmly secured inside her jacket, she stepped out of her car and headed across the rough gravel around the warehouse. She reached the front door, the glass in the windows cracked, and the corridor she could see through it was cold and clinical, the only lights that illuminated the walls flickering.

She pushed the door open careful and crept through, then stopped dead when she heard shouts and the sneering, nasally sound of Alastair's voice. She raced down the corridor and the sight that met her when she rounded the corridor was like a slap around the face.

Alastair, his clothes bloodstained and crumpled, had a tight hold around Cas's throat, and there was blood streaming from his temple and down his cheeks. The sight of his blood shocked her; she couldn't have imagined ever seeing Cas hurt in any way. He struggled to fight against him, but he was getting nowhere. Miriana saw with another shock that a sharp hook on the wall was driven deep into Cas's back, just between his shoulder blades.

"All I can do," Alastair was saying, tightening his hand, "Is send you back to heaven."

Miriana cried out before she could stop herself and without so much as a glance Alastair raised his hand and flung her against the wall so hard it knocked every bit of breath out of her lungs. She felt a sickening pain in the back of her head and felt the hot, sticky trail of blood run down the back of her neck, and her vision flickered around the edges. She caught sight of Cas's wide panicked eyes fixed on her and she tried to help him, but Alastair held her pinned against the wall, unable to move.

Alastair began chanting in Latin, words Miriana had never even heard in all her years of poring over Latin texts. Light began to stream out of Castiel's eyes and mouth, the white flare that she had seen when Anna had had her grace returned. She had completely forgotten that essentially Cas was possessing a vessel, just like demons. She struggled desperately against the invisible forces that had her trapped like iron bars against the wall, but it was pointless.

Just as Cas went almost completely limp, Alastair choked over the words in his mouth and flew back against the wall, as hard as Miriana had. Surprised, and feeling the force that had been holding her lessen considerably, she glanced up to see Sam's familiar broad shouldered figure striding forwards calmly, his hand held out in front of him. Cas slid down the wall, looking bewildered, leaving a dark smear of blood behind him. She managed to reach him, breaking the forces that were holding her. Placing her hand between his shoulders, she winced when she saw the deep gash running between his shoulder blades and extending down his back, her hand coming away wet with dark blood. It must hurt terribly, but he hadn't seemed to have noticed; his wide blue eyes were locked on Sam. Right at that moment, she just wanted to wipe the blood away from his head and back and soothe the raw wounds, as it just didn't seem right to her that an angel should be injured, but he kept his eyes away from her and trained on Sam and Alastair, his eyes wide and panicked.

"Stupid pet tricks," Alastair grumbled, rolling his eyes.

"Who's murdering the angels?" Sam demanded, his palm stretched out in front of him, "How are they doing it?"

Alastair smirked slowly, a cruel, predatory smile, "You think I'm gonna tell you?"

"Yeah I do," Sam replied, and curled his fingers towards his palm. Alastair choked suddenly, and the pupils of his eyes rolled up into the back of his head, so his eyes were just a disturbing, blank white.

"How are the demons killing angels?" Sam shouted over Alastair's pained gasps for breath.

"I...don't...know!" Alastair managed to choke out. She could see the arteries standing out in Sam's neck; see the visible effort it took for him to do whatever he was doing to Alastair.

"Right," Sam snapped, closing his fist even tighter so Alastair choked even harder. Cas got to his feet next to her and she was surprised to find he gently hooked his arms under hers and carefully pulled her to her feet, his hands lingering just a little longer than necessary along the curve of her waist before he stepped away. He didn't look at her once.

"It's not us," Alastair gasped, "We're not doing it!"

Sam let out a short, bitter laugh, "I don't believe you."

"Lilith is not behind this," Alastair snarled, fighting against the pain he was clearly in, "She wouldn't kill seven angels. Oh, she'd kill a hundred. A thousand."

Sam dropped his hand, letting out a huge breath and Alastair sagged against the wall, his breathing laboured. Sam's skin was covered in a light layer of sweat, and the rise and fall of his chest was rapid, like he'd just finished running a marathon. He surveyed Alastair with furious contempt and disgust in his eyes.

"Oh go ahead," Alastair goaded, "Send me back, if you can."

"I'm stronger than that now," Sam said, and Miriana detected a hint of pride in his voice, reminding her of a younger Sam at Stamford, ringing her to tell how well he'd done in his exams, what felt like a million years ago.

"Now I can kill."

Both Miriana and Cas turned incredulous eyes to Sam, and Miriana felt something that felt like a block of ice settle in the bottom of her stomach. Sam held his arm out straight in front of him one last time, his palm splayed out, and his eyes closed as if with great concentration. The whole room seemed to hum and vibrate with energy, and Miriana felt it crackle along her skin like electricity, raising the fine hairs on her arms and the back of her neck. She felt lightheaded and weak, the pain in the back of her head increasing tenfold, and she had to lean against the wall to stop herself from collapsing on the floor. Alastair let out a loud, drawn out scream of agony, and there was a flicker of dull orange light fluttering behind his skull and in his chest, showing the sharp silhouette of his ribcage and collarbone. The wall behind Alastair began to crack and crumble, bricks falling free from the wall and crashing on the floor, great chunks of plaster flaking away. The light that began to emanate from Alastair's battered body was blinding, and it felt like an earthquake was shaking the very foundations of the warehouse. Sam dropped his hand, and instantly Alastair slid down the wall, the vivid orange light fading away, leaving Alastair's eyes staring blankly at the wall opposite, his face contorted into a final death rattle.

Miriana looked across at Sam, who seemed almost embarrassed now that the whole incident was over. He looked at the ground and shuffled his feet, unable to meet Castiel's stormy blue eyes. He looked beseechingly at Miriana, who felt sick with dread and fear over what she had just seen. Sam must have seen the look in her eyes, because he held his hand out to her.

"Miriana..." he began. She couldn't stay in the room any longer, couldn't look at Alastair's corpse and think about anything other than what Sam had just done with nothing but an outstretched hand and his mind. Without looking at him, she raced for the exit, dropping into a flat out sprint the second she was out the front door, her skin coated in hot, sticky sweat, her stomach heaving, the acrid taste of fear in the back of her throat.


	46. Now Comes the Night

_Hi, hope you all enjoy this chapter, and a huge thank you to anyone who's left a reveiw or favourite as always. I'll try and update again at the weekend :)_

Miriana sat in the cold, sterile hospital corridor outside Dean's room, her head throbbing, waiting for the doctors to finish hooking him up to all the whirring machines against his bed. Sam sat opposite her, and the silence between the two of them weighed against Miriana's chest like a dead weight. She' d barely spoken to him since she met had met up with him at the hospital after they'd rung the ambulance for Dean, who had looked so battered, lying in a pool of his own blood, that Miriana had been convinced he would die right there in that cold, barren warehouse. Miriana had been dragged off to a ward by a very diligent nurse who insisted that Miriana have stitched for the cut on the back off her head, despite Miriana protestations. Every now and then Sam would open his mouth as if to say something, but he instantly shut it again each time. Miriana tried to think of something to say, but the only thing she could think to say was; so you kill demons with your mind, huh? She didn't feel like discussing such a disturbing topic right at that moment. All she could think about was Dean lying comatose in the hospital bed next door, his body beaten and crushed almost into a pulp.

At that moment, the kindly middle aged nurse poked her head around the door, "You can come in now."

Miriana and Sam both jumped to their feet and followed the nurse into the room. Miriana felt a sharp shook go through her when she saw Dean; both of his eyes were swollen and bruised a deep, ugly purple, there were angry scarlet welts across his cheek and nose and his skin was blotchy. Even his arms and hands were covered in raw scrapes and bruises. Seeing Dean in this state reminded Miriana far too much of his body after the hell hounds had finished using him as a chew toy. It felt completely wrong that somebody as strong as Dean could be reduced to a battered, broken shell. It made her want to yell and scream until her throat was sore.

"He's had quite a battering," the nurse explained, "It might be a while before he wakes up."

"Thank you," Sam said quietly as the nurse bustled out of the room, scribbling on her clipboard. Miriana sank slowly into the nearest chair.

"This is a mess, Sam," she said, not even attempting to cover up the despair in her voice.

"I know," he said, after a long pause. There was no other sound in the room but the whirring and bleeping of the machines and the sharp staccato noise of Dean breathing through the plastic tube that snaked into his mouth.

"I need some coffee," Miriana decided, getting to her feet and heading for the door. She couldn't stand being in the room, silently waiting for Dean to recover, barely able to breathe through the cloying tension in the room.

"Miriana," Sam gently caught her arm before she reached the door, and then dropped it instantly as if he thought she might bat it away.

"Miriana, I'm sorry that I...I'm sorry for..." he sighed heavily, his large shoulders dropping, "Everything."

Any traces of resentment and fear that she had felt towards him faded at the sheen of tears she saw in his green eyes. He wasn't the terrifying, powerful psychic she had seen back in the warehouse, he was just Sam. She patted his shoulder, and he gave a weak but hopeful smile.

"I know," she said gently, "You want anything?"

He shook his head, "No, I'm feeling kinda sick."

Truthfully, so was Miriana; she doubted she would be able to keep down the weak hospital coffee, but the walk to the coffee machine in the visitors lounge gave her something to do, at least. She leaned against the counter whilst she waited for the sputtering machine to fill the plastic cup she placed into the slot. It took forever.

She took a long swig of the coffee whilst she walked back to Dean's room, and she found she was right about the coffee; it was so weak it may as well just be hot water in the cup. She rounded the corner and stopped dead when she saw the figure stood talking to Sam, his shoulders drawn tight with tension. She couldn't hear the conversation from her position at the end of the hall, but from the stormy expression on Cas's face and the set of Sam's shoulders, it didn't exactly look as if they were having a friendly chat.

Sam swept back into Dean's room, slamming the door behind him, and Cas's eyes instantly found Miriana, stood somewhat awkwardly at the end of the corridor, clutching her cup of coffee. There was no point just standing there like an idiot as if they were having some kind of standoff; to turn around and walk away would be childish, and she was going to have to pass him to get to Dean's room anyway. She half hoped he might pull a vanishing act. She squared her shoulders and walked as gracefully as she could manage down the corridor, concentrating very hard on not spilling the coffee all over the floor, her hands were shaking so badly. He subtly moved in between her and the door so she was forced to stop.

"How are you?" he asked carefully, his eyes guarded.

Miriana let out a bitter laugh, "How do you think I am? Dean's lying in there, all beaten and battered, and Sam..." she tailed off, "I don't know what the hell to think about Sam."

"How's your head?" he asked, and she noticed his eyes raked up and down her body as if he was checking for any other injuries.

"Peachy," she replied, automatically rubbing her fingers over the rough stitches that snaked across the back her skull, wincing.

"What about you, huh?" she asked, her tone cold, "You were covered in blood; you had a huge gash right down your back. You've healed already?"

He gave a quick nod, "I healed my vessels body after the fight."

Miriana rolled her eyes to the ceiling, "It's alright for some."

An awkward silence fell between them, but Miriana felt too tired to be disconcerted by it.

"How's Dean?" he asked suddenly.

"Like you give a damn," she snapped, "It's your fault he's in there," she jabbed her finger at the door behind him. She hated talking to him like this, but she just couldn't help herself. She needed someone to lash out at, and he was the perfect target; he rarely ever argued back.

"I tried to help him," he said pleadingly, "But I was too late. Alastair is too powerful."

"I'm sure," she said, reaching past him for the door handle. Before she could open it, he leaned a little closer, his hand closing over hers on the handle. As she expected, her anger dissolved away instantly.

"I wish I could do more," he murmured into her ear, "I wish I could help you."

She held herself completely still for as long as she could, then she pulled the handle down, sharply breaking the contact between them.

"Yeah," she said quietly, "I wish you could help me too."

***

It took a lot for him to do this.

"Anna," Castiel called, waiting for the familiar red headed figure to appear outside the pool of white light from the lamppost, "Anna, please."

In response, the light above his head began to flicker and crackle. He turned to find Anna stood a few feet away, her pale fists clenched and her face ambivalent.

"Decided to kill me after all?"

"I'm alone," he said quietly.

"What do you want from me, Castiel?" she asked.

"I'm considering disobedience," he replied, as softly as he could. He knew how often his superiors listened in on what their subordinates were doing.

The slightest smile curved Anna's lips, "Good."

"No it isn't," he said, shaking his head, "For the first time, I feel..."

He tailed off. He didn't have the slightest idea what he was feeling.

"It gets worse," she said in a flat voice. She gracefully walked down the steps towards him, "Choosing your own course of action, is confusing...terrifying."

She reached out tentatively and placed her hand on his shoulder. He glanced down at her pale hand, once again reminded forcibly of Miriana.

She dropped her hand almost instantly, "That's right," she snapped, "You're too good for my help. I'm just trash, a walking blasphemy."

She turned away from him and swept away, tossing her long red hair. Before she could vanish into the darkness outside the lamppost, he called her name.

"Anna," she stopped instantly, although she didn't turn around, "I don't know what to do. Please tell me what to do."

She smiled, wider this time, and her eyes were instantly sad, "Like the old days?"

"No. I'm sorry," she said coldly, the smile fading from her face and the warmth in her eyes cooling, "It's time to think for yourself."

He stayed staring at the place where she had vanished, breathing in deep lungfuls of cold winter air. The last fragile hope that he had that someone could guide him was gone.

He dropped his eyes to the ground, picking out vague crystal patterns in the thick white snow that covered the ground. His eyes fell on the water fountain that stood a few feet away, on the plastic tap that was fixed to the bottom of the granite. Her felt his stomach drop when the realization of what had happened crossed his mind. With the heavy weight of dread in his stomach, he returned to the empty warehouse.

***

Miriana had been sat beside Dean's hospital bed for what felt like days, just watching the steady rise and fall of his chest and listening to the monotonous bleeping of the machines that he remained hooked into. He still hadn't resurfaced from his coma, and Miriana was determined to keep her eyes peeled open in case she blinked and missed a sudden movement from him. Sam had fallen asleep in the chair on the opposite side of the bed, his lanky frame curled awkwardly over the plastic frame, his eyes occasionally twitching as he dreamed. She stretched and got up from the chair she was slumped in, kissing Dean lightly on the forehead then gently rousing Sam to tell him she was returning to her motel.

It was freezing outside, cold enough to penetrate through her leather jacket and jeans. By the time she had driven back to her motel, she was shivering all over. She flicked the light on in her motel room to find a tall slim figure reclining in one of the chairs in the kitchenette. She reached for her gun until she heard the calming voice of the figure in her chair.

"You don't need to shoot me, Miriana," she said gently, "I'm not like the others."

"Embriel?" she questioned, quickly stowing her gun back in her jacket. Embriel gracefully stood from the chair and walked towards her, keeping a respectable distance as if she expected Miriana to unload a clip into her if she got too close.

"Castiel told me you hurt your head," she said, "How is it?"

"It's not too bad," she replied. She found Embriels' presence incredibly reassuring and calming; it seemed as if all the tension had evaporated.

"He also told me you were..." she paused, clearly choosing her words carefully, "A little annoyed with him."

Miriana fought the urge to let out a derisive snort; a little annoyed was the understatement of the century.

"Yeah, I guess you could say that."

"He was distracted for weeks," Embriel said, elegantly sitting back down in the chair, "You have quite a hold over him."

Miriana slumped heavily into the chair opposite Embriel, tracing invisible patterns across the tabletop, "Do I?"

Embriel let out a small laugh, "Yes, in fact-"

Miriana cut across her, "What are you doing here?"

The angel dropped her wide, clear hazel eyes to the floor, "Its Castiel, Miriana."

"Don't ask me to apologize to him," she said, fighting to reign in the anger of her tone.

"I know he's hurt you, Miriana. But please be a little gentler with him. He doesn't understand humanity, he's never had to deal with it before know. He has the burden of over two thousand years of service on his shoulders; it's a weight you cannot simply shrug off."

"And that's my problem because..."

"Because he cares about you Miriana," Embriel said, instantly puncturing Miriana's anger, "He struggles to show it because he doesn't know how to. All he knows is how to follow orders."

Miriana felt the guilt settle across her shoulders like an iron bar.

Miriana rubbed a hand across her forehead, "I've been a complete bitch, haven't I?"

Embriel let out another gently laugh and she reached across the table and took Miriana's hand in hers, rubbing her slender and slightly lined fingers across the back of Miriana's hand.

"No, you haven't," she replied, "You've been very human. And he doesn't understand how to deal with that."

A heavy silence fell between them, and Embriel gently removed her hand.

"He kissed you didn't he?" she asked, although her tone suggested she already knew the answer.

"How did you guess?"

Embriel heaved a sigh, "I could tell. He was...vacant, not as focused as he usually is. The others thought he was merely tired, but I know him better."

Miriana let out a small chuckle, "You're like his mother or something."

The corners of Embriels' mouth quirked up into a small crooked smile, "I suppose I do see myself as his surrogate mother; he may seem ancient to you, but in our terms Castiel is little more than an adolescent."

This revelation stunned Miriana; for some reason she had always imagined him to be one of the oldest angels.

"How old are you then? If you don't mind me asking," she added hastily at the end, eager not to offend her.

"Of course I don't mind," Embriel said in a surprised tone, "I'll be pushing my eleven thousandth birthday in a few weeks."

Miriana had to fight to stop her jaw from dropping. She couldn't imagine anyone living so long; she must have seen so much and lived through so many things. When she looked up at Embriels' face, she swore she could see a tinge of sadness colouring her eyes.

"Perhaps now you can gain a little perspective on how confused and conflicted he is; torn between his duties and wanting to know a human, to live a life like yours."

Miriana leaned back in her chair and massaged her neck, stiff from falling asleep hunched over in the uncomfortable plastic chair in Dean's hospital room, "I really should talk to him."

Embriel nodded, "All I ask is that you're careful with him. You being angry with him absolutely kills him."

The guilty feeling gave her another slap around the face, "I'll try."

Suddenly, Embriel tilted her head as if she was trying to listen in on a conversation. She stood, tossing her brunette hair behind her shoulders and straightening her camisole and cardigan.

"My superiors require my assistance," she said, and Miriana was sure she could sense a note of bitterness and resentment in her voice, "I'll see you soon, dear."

The kindly angel calling her 'dear' seemed to fit with her motherly image and persona. She found she didn't want her to leave, so comforted as she was by her presence.

"Be careful," Miriana said. Embriel gave a small smile in response.

"You too."


	47. Every Breath You Take

_Hi, I hope you all enjoy this chapter, and thanks as always for the great reviews you've left. I just hope you're all still enjoying it! :)_

Castiel scraped his fingers across the gap in the outer circle of the pentagram that he had meticulously drawn onto the floor of the warehouse and glanced up to find his suspicions confirmed; a pipe above him was leaking, just a few small drops at a time enough to cut through the white paint. He got to his feet and followed the pipe with his eyes as it snaked across the ceiling and down a column in the warehouse and found the tap that controlled the water flow. With a twist of his hand, he screwed the pipe tight shut.

"You called?" came Uriels' voice from the shadows, his hulking figure coming into view, "What do you say Castiel? Will you join me? Will you fight with me?"

"Strange," Castiel said, keeping his eyes carefully trained away from his brothers' face, "Strange, how a leaky pipe, can undo the work of angels, when we ourselves, are supposed to be the agents of fate."

Uriel shook his head, "Alastair was much more powerful than we had imagined."

"No. No demon can overpower that trap," he gestured at the floor, "I made it myself."

Uriel said nothing, but simply looked away, fixing his eyes on the wall opposite.

"We've been friends for a long time, Uriel. Fought by each others' sides, away from home, for what seems like...forever," he was hoping this appeal to Uriels' emotions would work. If there was one thing he had learned about Uriel, he was loyal. At least he thought he was.

"We're brothers, Uriel," he said, "Pay me that respect, tell me the truth."

Keeping his dark eyes fixed on him, Uriel said, "The truth is; the only thing that can kill an angel..."

There was the scrape of metal sliding over metal, and when he looked down, he saw the long, glittering blade protruding from the sleeve of Uriels' navy suit, and felt what he imagined to be fear settle in his stomach. Uriel lifted the blade between them, so he could see the cruel, sharp edges catching the dim light in the room.

"Is another angel."

***

"You," Castiel stated, his eyes glued to the knife Uriel held.

"I'm afraid so," Uriel said, not even the faintest note of compassion or regret in his voice

"And you...broke the devils trap," he had guessed the answer stood alone in the park after Anna had left, but he just hadn't wanted to face the truth, "Set Alastair on Dean."

Uriel shook his head slowly, "Alastair should never have been taken alive. Really inconvenient, Cas."

Was this how much betrayal hurt for humans? He had a much better appreciation of how much it must have pained Miriana and Dean discovering the powers Sam had kept hidden from them. He felt as if Uriel had driven the blade he was holding right between his vessels' ribs.

"Yes, I did turn the screw a little," Uriel said, sounding oddly pleased with himself, "Alastair should have killed Dean and escaped and you should have gone on happily scapegoating the demons."

It took him a second to process this, "For the murders of our kin?"

"Not murders, Castiel," he replied, "No. My work is conversion."

"How long have we waited here?" he continued, the anger rising in his voice, "How long have we played this game, by rules that make no sense?"

"It is our Fathers' world, Uriel," he said turning away.

"Our Father?" Uriel scoffed, "He stopped being that, if he ever was, the moment he created them. Humanity, his favourites."

He had been wondering how long it would be before Uriel launched into his usual furious tirade about humans. Not that long, as it transpired.

"This whining, puking larvae," he muttered, just loud enough for him to hear. He had a sudden image of Miriana, a flash of her perfume in his nose and the phantom feeling of her fingers against his hand. Uriel wasn't aware of the beauty he saw in the human race.

"Are you trying to convert me?" he asked, turning back to face him.

"I wanted you to join me," he replied, "And I still do. With you, we can be powerful enough to-"

"To?" Castiel questioned, feeling dread settle in his chest once again.

"To raise our brother," Uriel finished, the slightest of smiles on his face.

"Lucifer," Castiel stated.

"Do you remember him?" Uriels' voice had taken on a reverent tone, "How strong he was?"

He walked past him, a glazed look in his eyes, gazing upon some sight only he could see, "How beautiful?"

Of course Castiel remembered him; it was a vivid memory that was burned into his brain. He had been very young when Lucifer was at his height of power in heaven, but he remembered everything about him, from his devotion to their father to the flashes of arrogance and cruelty he often showed. He remembered his downfall too. He had fought desperately along with thousands of his brothers and sisters to imprison him. He could hear the screams and smell the blood.

"And he didn't bow to humanity," Uriel snapped, turning back to face him, "He was punished for defending us. If you wanna believe in something Cas, believe in him"

"Lucifer is not God," he retorted.

"God isn't God anymore," Uriel said bitterly, striding past him, "He doesn't care what we do. I am proof of that."

"But this?" he turned back to face him again, "What were you going to do Uriel? Were you going to kill the whole garrison?"

"I only killed the ones who said no," he replied. He thought back to his dead sister, lying in the middle of the road, her body broken and her wings burned to ashes on the tarmac. He had known her, one of the older angels. She had always been kind to him, spoken to him a few times. He wondered how painful it was for her; how painful it would be for him.

"Others have joined me Cas," Uriel said softly, "Now, please, brother don't fight me. Help me. Help me spread the word. Help me bring on the apocalypse."

"All you have to do, is be unafraid."

He thought hard in those few seconds. He considered it, thought about how easy it would be to turn his back on everything. But again, Miriana entered his thoughts. She was furious enough as it was with him; if he followed Uriel, she would hate him, and they would be nothing left between them to salvage. And his father. If he didn't have his faith for him, he had nothing.

"For the first time in a long time," he said quietly, hardly able to meet Uriels' eyes, "I am."

With every ounce of strength he had, he lifted his arm back and punched Uriel squarely in the chest, sending him flying back, breaking through the bricks in the wall.

Uriel climbed heavily to his feet, throwing bricks aside. Castiel raised his arms, curling his hands into fists, preparing for the first blow. Uriel slammed his heavy fist into his cheek; he countered by punching him twice, as hard as he could although it seemed to glance of Uriels' face. Uriel smashed his fist into his cheek once more, and he felt bruises spring across his face, then heal to invisibility seconds later. Uriel fisted his huge hands into the front of his trench coat and hurled him against the nearest pillar, which he smashed into splinters when he collided with it. He crashed into the floor, the force of his body hitting the concrete driving all the breath from his lungs. He smoothly got to his feet, brushing the wooden splinters off his coat, spitting the bitter metallic tang of blood out of his mouth. He raised his fists once more and his fist collided with Uriels' mouth; he felt his jaw bone splinter under his hand. Uriel spun around, leaning heavily against the wall. He didn't see him pick up the iron bar, but he felt it seconds later when the cold metal whistled through the air and collided with the side of his face. He felt his vessel's skull shatter in three places, the cheek bone smashing inwards, blood blossoming inside his mouth, shards of bone cracking and splintering, then remoulding and reforming seconds later. Had he been human or unable or unable to heal himself, the blow would have killed him, left a pool of blood on the floor.

It may not have hurt, but it left him stunned and he collapsed to his knees, unable to get back to his feet.

"You can't win, Uriel," he said around his mouthful of blood, "I still serve God."

"You haven't even met the man," he spat, closing his hand around the lapels of his jacket.

"There is no will," he snarled, smashing his fist across his face. His cheek bone shattered and healed yet again.

"No wrath," another punch, "No God."

He lifted his arm once more, and this time he saw the deadly glitter of the blade in his hand. _I'm going to die,_ something in his head said, and he felt an irrational surge of panic; his vessel was awake in his subconscious and yelling, praying for his wife and child. All he could think about was Miriana. Would she cry when she learned he was dead, or would she be glad that he was finally out of her life? Would she care in any way? He waited for the pain of the blade, but it never came.

He lifted his eyes to see the gleaming tip of a knife protruding through the skin of Uriels' thick neck, a thin stream of blood trickling from the tiny wound. His eyes followed the handle of the blade and to the thin hands that held it, up to the familiar face and shock of vibrant red hair.

Anna leaned forward and whispered into Uriels' ear, "Maybe, maybe not. But there's still me."

She wrenched the knife from his throat with a stomach turning squelch and he dropped to the floor, his heavy body colliding with the floor. Anna came to stand beside Castiel, stepping carefully over Uriels' body. Suddenly, Uriels' eyes flew open, a pure white light bursting from his open mouth and eyes. With a great shudder and a blast of light, Uriel died, his vessels' body finally going limp, leaving the room quiet and cold. Castiel climbed slowly to his feet, feeling oddly empty. He couldn't hear his vessels' mind anymore. He glanced at Anna who swallowed hard, dropping the blade to the floor with a clang as if it had burned her.

"I think we should go," she said nervously, and he found himself inclined to agree with her.

***

The other angels found him not long after he had left, asking him to tell them exactly what Uriel had been planning. Evidently, other angels in his garrison had learned of Uriels' betrayal and instantly told Zachariah, who had tracked him down, only to find him dead already. He had also tracked down the other traitorous angels and executed them swiftly, ensuring every other angel in the garrison knew of the punishment. Surprisingly, he had asked Castiel only a few brief questions and then dismissed him. He had wandered around the streets of the local town for a few hours, before he had felt a strange yearning to find Miriana, even if it was just to watch her from a distance. He had thought she might be at the hospital with Dean, but he had found her at her motel room, the curtains pulled securely across the window. Listening intently outside her door, he could the rushing sound of the shower and the distant muffled sounds of music playing. If he listened even harder, he could hear her humming along. He leaned his head against the cool wood of the door, wishing more than anything that he could talk to her, that she wouldn't look at him with pure disgust in her eyes. The soft noise of the shower was cut off, and the music grew a little in volume, as did the noise of her voice, singing along quietly.

He stayed there for a few minutes, until the music was cut off too and the lights flickered off. He remained leaning against the door, wondering if he listened hard enough he could hear the sound of her breathing or the rustle of the sheets as she turned over in her sleep. Knowing that he shouldn't be doing this, he unlocked he motel door with a flick of his fingers and pushed it open so it swung inwards, revealing the darkness of her room.

The scent of her perfume and shampoo washed over him the second he stepped inside the room, almost a physical push against his chest. He leaned against the wall, watching her still form, indistinct under the covers. He was well aware this was not normal behaviour, and he was sure if she found him in her room watching her sleep she would no doubt pick up the nearest gun and unload a hail of bullets into him. But he couldn't stop himself; being in her presence when she slept calmed him, stopped the blur of emotions and pain that had been coursing through him so often. He noiselessly moved over to her bed and sat down on the edge of it, brushing his fingers over the material, faintly warm from the heat her body radiated. As if she subconsciously knew he was there, her hand moved across the covers and her slender fingers linked around his, warm and soft. He told himself he should leave, but it found it impossible, as if by holding his hand she had exerted some great power over him, keeping him locked in place.

He stayed holding her hand while she slept, watching her peaceful face as she dreamed, wishing more than anything that she could tell him what to do next.


	48. Times Like These

_Hi, hope you're all ok. Thanks for all the great reveiws and I hope you enjoy this next chapter! :)_

"Dean's awake," was the first thing Sam said to her the next morning when she answered her mobile.

"Well good morning to you too, Sam," she said, rolling her eyes.

"The nurse said he woke up some time yesterday," he said. Miriana felt instantly guilty; she hadn't been there despite the fact she'd promised herself and Dean she would be.

"I should have been there," she said automatically.

"Apparently he had a visitor," Miriana was sure she could detect a hint of bitterness in his voice.

"Who?"

"Guy in a trench coat, I'm guessing it was Cas," Sam replied.

"I see," said Miriana, fighting to keep her voice even, "Well I'll go and see him now."

"Tell him I'll be along in a bit, yeah? I just have something to do."

Miriana hung up, with the distinct impression that Ruby was there, lurking in the background. She sighed heavily and grabbed her car keys.

She arrived at the hospital in less than half an hour, following the familiar corridors until she came to Deans' room. She pushed the door open carefully.

"Dean?" she asked tentatively.

"Miriana," he rasped. She walked over to the bed and perched on the end, being careful not to tug on any tubes or the IV.

"How are you?" she gave him a wide smile, which fell as the sight of tears under Deans' tired eyes.

"What?" she asked, alarmed, "What is it?!"

He shook his head slowly, closing his eyes, "I did it, Miriana."

"Did what?" Miriana glanced at the bag of fluids hanging next to his bed, wondering if somebody had slipped something that shouldn't be in there into it. She never saw Dean like this.

"The apocalypse, Miriana," he whispered, "I started it. In hell."

She swore she felt her heart stop for a few seconds while her brain raced to catch up. It wasn't possible. It couldn't be. It was a lie.

"H...how?"

"Torture," he rasped, "In hell, when I tortured all those people. That was the first seal."

He let out a strangled little sob and reached for Miriana's hand, gripping it tight in his own.

"I don't deserve life," he said, his knuckles white over Mirianas', "I wish Alastair had just killed me. I wish I'd never come back in the first place."

Miriana wanted so desperately to comfort him, but she couldn't think of anything to say, her mind was reeling so fast she felt faintly nauseous. She covered his hand with her own, trying to hide the shake in them.

"Don't say that," she managed to choke out, "What would me and Sam do without you, huh? No-one there to take the piss out of us?"

It was a weak stab at humour and she knew it, but she though she saw his lips twitch upwards in the slightest smile.

At that moment the door banged open and the kindly nurse Miriana had seen before came into the room carrying a tray of bottles of drugs. She glanced between the two of them.

"Sorry to interrupt dear, but I need to give him his pain meds," she explained, "He's going to be out of it for a little while."

Miriana nodded, gently extricating her hand from underneath Deans', although he seemed reluctant to let go.

"I'll stay until Sam goes, okay?" she said quietly around the lump in her throat, "I promise."

She watched the nursed inject the drugs into the IV bag next to the bed and Deans' eyes fluttered shut as the sedatives began to take effect in his system, wishing she had something that could knock her out cold so easily.

***

Miriana lay on her back on the uncomfortable mattress, staring up at the dull grey ceiling, a sitcom blaring away from the television in the corner, although she wasn't watching it. She head was reeling with all the information she had received in the past twenty four hours. She couldn't get herself to believe that Dean had kick started the apocalypse. She couldn't imagine what that knowledge was doing to his head; her own felt like someone had unleashed a hurricane inside it. She felt sick, even though the only thing in her stomach was the weak hospital coffee and half a burger that she'd managed to force down earlier that afternoon, just to stop herself feeling like she was about to pass out. She wished she could wipe her memory clean and start her life over again in some little town, with no knowledge of heaven and hell and the impending apocalypse. She took a deep breath, feeling her ribs rise and fall with the movement, trying to ignore the ache this brought. It even hurt to breathe now.

She wanted someone to comfort her so badly; she had at first thought of Sam, but she didn't think she could face him and have the memories of what had happened back in the warehouse come flooding back, reminding her of every awful thing she had witnessed. She had considered her aunt and Nate, but she didn't think she could make the drive in the state she was in. It wouldn't help matters if she fell asleep at the wheel and crashed the car.

It felt like hours that she had been lying on her back, trying to sleep and forget what had happened, when she heard the rustle of clothes in the corner of the room, by the door. She shot up, her hand instantly reaching under the lumpy pillow to pull her gun free, aiming it at the source of the noise. At the sight of the figure stood by the door, she instantly dropped her gun onto the mattress.

"Cas," she said wearily, "You have to stop doing that."

"I'm sorry," he said softly. He stayed by the door, half in and half out of the warm shadows in the corner of the room. She was surprised to see that he looked tired.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I just wanted to see you," he replied cautiously, "To talk to you."

She rolled her eyes and slumped back against the headboard of the bed. Another cryptic answer.

"About?"

"I know who was killing the other angels," he walked over to the chair next to the kitchenette, dropping into it. Miriana noticed the slump of his shoulders and the empty look in his dark blue eyes. She felt something in her heart go out to him in his despair; any anger she had been harbouring for him instantly dissolved away, especially when Embriels' words echoed in her head.

She sat up a little straighter, "And?"

He heaved a deep sigh, "It was Uriel."

That piece of information hit Miriana around the face like an iron bar. She had hated the hulking, malevolent Uriel with his cruel attitude since the day she had met him, but she had never expected him to be guilty of treason against his brothers. He had always seemed so loyal. She realized why Castiel was looking so defeated; it must have shattered him to discover it was his brother who had been killing his kin.

"I'm sorry Cas," she said gently, "What happened to him?"

"Dead," he said shortly.

"And did you...?" she questioned, but he shook his head.

"No, it was Anna," he said, his voice devoid of emotion, "I am indebted to her. If it hadn't been for her, I would be dead."

That statement made Miriana's heart turn to ice in her chest; the thought of his death was painful and somehow impossible to imagine, he seemed so indestructible. She guessed she owed Anna too. A heavy silence fell between them, the both of them wrapped up in their own anxieties and pain. He looked so lost, Miriana wanted nothing but to comfort him.

"Is it true about Dean?" she asked suddenly. He raised his eyes from his study of the kitchen tiles and they were dark with sorrow.

"Yes," he said flatly.

Somehow hearing it from a creature as wise and ancient as Castiel gave it an awful, concrete reality. She dropped her head into her hands and squeezed her eyes tight shut, feeling hot tears leak out of the corners of her eyes and splash onto the bedspread.

"Oh God, this is such a mess," she whispered.

In an instant she felt his warm arms around her shoulders, turning her gently but forcefully into his chest, her quiet sobs muffled by his shirt. He was whispering something that sounded vaguely like a foreign language into her hair, his hands gently brushing the length of her back from her shoulder blades down to the base of her spine. She fisted one of her hands into the material of his white dress shirt, clinging onto him tightly while he gently cradled her.

They seemed to stay like this for a long time, locked together before he gently pulled away, still keeping her within the circle of his arms, kissing her forehead. She looked up into his eyes and felt her heart stutter in response to what she saw there. Desperate to find a way to break the burning tension between them, she dropped her eyes to the collar of his shirt.

"I...I got...eyeliner on your shirt," she said, gesturing at the dark back smear where her tears had fallen against his chest.

He gently took the hand that was resting near his collar and kissed the back of it, making Miriana feel suddenly light headed.

"It doesn't matter," he murmured gently. He hesitantly leaned down and brushed his lips against her cheeks, kissing away the tears. He lowered his lips to her mouth and gently caught her lips, parting them carefully, tasting the tang of her tears on them. Her hands slid down over his shoulders and tugged on the lapels of his tan trench coat, pulling him closer against her. She found herself being softly pushed back against the pillows, her heart thundering away in her chest, adrenalin running through her veins like fire. One of his hands trailed over her shoulders, down over the thin fabric of her shirt and came to rest against the curve of her hipbone, carefully tracing his fingertips over the tops of the ragged scars that showed over the top of her jeans. She broke away from his lips just long enough to gasp a breath into her lungs before he covered her mouth with his again, running his tongue over hers. Her head was spinning and her whole body felt as if someone had poured molten sunshine inside of her. A voice in the back of her head warned her that she was falling too fast, that this was dangerous, but it was far outweighed by the voice that told her to carry on. The hand that had been braced against the pillow by her head moved into her hair, pulling his fingers through the dark strands, and she shivered when his fingers moved down her neck and brushed over the jumping pulse at the base of her throat.

Just before she was about to pull away for air a second time, he pushed himself away from her, breaking any contact between them. Miriana stayed leaning against the pillows, her breathing shallow and staccato, and her limbs feeling oddly weak and weightless. Cas was sat on the end of the bed, as far away from her as possible, his shoulders heaving as if with some great effort. She almost felt afraid to speak, in case the sound of her breathless voice frightened him away.

"I'm sorry, Miriana," he said, his voice rough, "I can't...I..."

He tailed off, and Miriana very carefully shifted along the mattress until she was within arm's reach of him. She placed her palm between his shoulder blades, very aware that his heart was still beating faster than hers in his chest.

"It's alright, it's my fault," she said softly, "I'm sorry."

After a seconds thought, she added, "For a lot of things."

He didn't say anything. Sighing heavily, she got up from the bed, quite surprised that her legs held her up. She pulled a chair over to the bed and sat down in it, her knees close to his. He looked up at her, as she very carefully reached out and slipped her hands between his. She half expected him to recoil away from her, but she was glad he didn't.

"I've been a complete bitch," she said, catching and holding his gaze.

He frowned and tilted his head, "I fail to see how you have been a female dog."

She rolled her eyes towards the ceiling, "Never mind. Look, I was...cruel to you. I didn't understand how difficult things were for you, but I was...enlightened."

"I understand why you acted the way you did," he lied smoothly.

She smiled, "Do you?" she asked softly.

"No," he replied, "You can be...confusing."

"I know I am," she said, leaning backwards and starting to pull her hands free of his. He caught her fingers before she could, and with his other hand he reached up and cupped a hand around the back of her neck, locking her in place. Very slowly, he leaned forwards and pressed his lips against hers, gently teasing his fingers over the nape of her neck. It was far more chaste than the heated fumble they had shared before, but it didn't stop Miriana's head from whirling and the room to dissolve around her so there was nothing in her consciousness but his lips against hers.

He pulled away from her suddenly, resting his forehead against hers, his breathing ragged.

"I have to go," he rasped.

"O...okay," she stuttered. He stood up, cast her a long lingering look and then vanished on the spot, leaving her alone. She managed to reach the bed and she collapsed against the mattress, feeling incredibly giddy. She guessed they had officially sorted out their problems now.

_Ps: just a little note to Bee Winchester David; hope you're feeling better now, I'm gla__d my update helped to cheer you up a little. Hope this has brightened up your day too! :)_


	49. Here We Go Again

_Hey, hope you all enjoy the next two chapters. I thought I'd upload two cos this one is pretty crappy and I managed to gets loads written this weekend; anyhoo thanks loads for all the reviews and favourites, I wish I could give you all a hug! :)_

She hadn't seen him in weeks, and she was beginning to worry that she had frightened him away again. She hadn't called for him; ever since Embriel had explained his predicament, she had backed off considerably. She realized he was no doubt protecting her from his superiors; from what she could gather, they weren't particularly forgiving or understanding. She kept waiting for the rustle of feathers, but it never came.

At least he hadn't disappeared in a panic like the last time they had kissed. He left a lot more calmly, although she had wished he hadn't left at all. She wondered, just like last time, what would have happened if he hadn't pulled away so suddenly. She had to force herself to stop thinking about it; otherwise she found she needed to douse herself in cold water. She was pretty certain thinking about an angel in that way was a sin.

The recent hunt she had gone on to stop a nest of vampires terrorizing a small town had gone surprisingly well, and had managed to keep her mind off him. Vampires were never the easiest things to destroy, but she had been particularly successful, managing to kill every last member of the coven so no one could come back and seek revenge on her. She already had one evil thing tailing her across America, determined to torture her to death, and she really didn't need another one.

Days later, she was wandering around a small town in Michigan, looking for a possible hunt when she noticed a book in a battered wooden bookcase in the window of a small, dilapidated shop, its cover faded by the sun. There was something about it that piqued her interest and she pushed open the door of the shop, the bell above the door tinkling gently. It was dark inside, and there was only one other person in the shop, a geeky looking teenager with glasses and a mop of wildly curling hair who eyed Miriana with great interest when she walked in. She scanned rows of comic books and role-playing games, searching for a copy of the book she had seen in the window. She finally found it in a creaking bookcase at the very back of the shop, and she soon discovered that it was book two of a huge number of books in the (she squinted at the title in the dull light) 'Supernatural series'. She picked the book up and turned it over, intending to read the blurb, and nearly dropped it when she discovered what was written on the back.

'Sam and Dean Winchester, demon hunting brothers, search for a wendigo terrorizing a mountain pass...' the rest of the text faded out into insignificance. She remembered that hunt; it wasn't long after Jessica's death when Sam began hunting again. She remembered the phone call from Dean telling her that Sam was back on the hunting scene, that she should come and meet them as she hadn't seen him for so long. Who the hell had written these? Who knew about the Winchesters in so much detail, every fact of their lives?

She fumbled in her pocket and pulled out her mobile phone, quickly flipping it open and ringing Sam's number. She suspected he would be less likely to burst into fits of laughter down the phone like Dean would.

"Yeah, Sam? You're not going to believe this."

***

Castiel was wondering how long it would be before he could disappear from underneath the watchful eyes of his superior and go to Miriana. He didn't dare try it whilst they were watching him; he was too afraid of the consequences for Miriana. She had enough danger in her life. He was missing her terribly, even though he tried his hardest to concentrate on his duties to take his mind off her. He realized she must be wondering where he was and why he hadn't visited her, but he would explain as soon as he could slip away from heaven and get to her.

He kept replaying the kiss over and over in his head, remembering the little gasp she let out when she pulled air back into her lungs, or the feeling of her pulse underneath his fingers. He hadn't wanted to stop, but he had felt something like electricity jolt through him, up his spine and through his stomach; an alien, disconcerting feeling that had completely thrown him. He had the feeling that she hadn't wanted him to stop either, if the way she pulled him closer against her was anything to go by. But he had been frightened by what he had felt, feelings that he well knew were forbidden. It didn't stop him from wanting to feel them again though, despite how scared he was of the consequences.

The demons had been surprisingly quiet recently, and it worried him. He had been expecting them to have to deal with them all across America, but it was surprisingly quiet. Lilith had disappeared, along with the majority of her coven, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to flush them out of wherever they were hiding. It seemed to him like the quiet before the storm.

Despite the fact that there was so little for the angels to do, Zachariah seemed incredibly keen to keep Castiel busy, often with seemingly unimportant tasks. He had the suspicion that he suspected him of deviating from the rules of heaven, so he kept his mouth shut and carried out his jobs efficiently and quickly, desperate to divert any attention away from himself.

"Castiel," Zachariah's voice tore him from his reverie.

"Sir," he mumbled quietly.

"It seems your charge," he said the word with venom "Has discovered the prophet, Chuck. Go and find him before he does something typically stupid."

Just before he was about to find Dean, Zachariah stopped him with a hand on his arm, "And Castiel," he said, keeping his cold, glacial blue eyes on him unblinkingly, "Don't go wandering off while you're down there."

***

"He's a what now?" Miriana asked, completely dumbfounded, "A prophet? I thought they only existed in biblical times, not in 2009, especially not looking like this washed up, unshaved loser!"

"Hey! I am here you know," Chuck protested, looking up at Miriana from where he sat curled up in his armchair, cradling a bottle of vodka in a brown paper bag like it was his child.

"Sorry, but come on! You're sure that's what Cas said?" Miriana asked for what felt like the fiftieth time.

Dean rolled his eyes towards the ceiling, "Yes, Miriana. I only saw him a few minutes ago; I think I can remember what he said."

Miriana had pulled up outside the ramshackle house Sam had given her the address for to find Dean stood over the ragged, scruffy man in the chair. He had explained everything to Miriana, albeit briefly; that Chuck was a prophet chosen by heaven, that his books were part of the so called 'Winchester Gospel' and most importantly, Dean had stressed to her, he was not to be harmed, unless she wanted to be turned into a pile of ashes on the floor by the archangel that protected him. She was finding the whole thing very hard to believe and slightly ridiculous. She was begging to wonder if Dean had hallucinated Castiel appearing and telling him Chuck was a prophet.

"But...but...how?" she asked.

"I don't know," Dean sighed, "All I care about right now is the fact that Lilith is coming to town, and she's after Sam."

Miriana rubbed a hand across her forehead, "This just keeps getting better and better," she muttered. Chuck pulled the vodka out of the bag and took a long swig with trembling hands. Some prophet of the lord, thought Miriana.

"What are you going to do?" she asked quietly, looking up at Dean, who was slumped against the wall, looking as exhausted as Miriana felt.

"Get out of town, get a hex bag, anything we can do just to keep away from Lilith," Dean replied, "Despite what Sam thinks, we aren't ready for this showdown."

Miriana nodded, "Sounds simple enough."

"I wish," muttered Dean.

She frowned, "What?"

"Mr. Penthouse Forum writer over here," Dean grumbled, gesturing at Chuck, "Had a vision about Sam and Lilith. He reckons that they..." he cleared his throat, "Do it."

"Do it?"

"Do I have to spell this out for you, Miriana? They have sex, get it-"

Miriana held up her hand, "Alright, thank you very much, I get the idea. What are you going to do about it?"

"Like I said, we keep a low profile and lock ourselves away somewhere. It's not gonna happen, whether its divine word or not."

He pulled his car keys out of his pocket and headed for the door without even saying goodbye to Chuck, who was still swilling the vodka, hunched over in his chair. Miriana followed him, with a growing sense of trepidation in her gut.

When they reached their cars, parked against the pavement across the road from Chuck's dilapidated house, Dean turned to her.

"I need you to keep an eye on him," he said, his voice tense, "I don't want him running off. He could be important for this whole shebang."

Miriana folded her arms resolutely across her chest, "And what exactly do I do if he decides to leave? It's not like I can stop him, not unless I fancy taking on an archangel, and I can tell you now, I don't."

Dean scrubbed a hand across his stubbly jaw, "I just want to watch him. Just in case. I'm gonna go and deal with this mess. Stop Sam from getting hot and heavy with that demon skank."

Miriana sighed heavily and unlocked her car door, "Fine, I guess. You owe me, Dean Winchester. I hate surveillance."

***

Miriana had been sat outside Chuck's house for over an hour, watching the window that faced the road on the bottom level of his house, no light behind it but the flickering, quavering glow of the television. She slumped down further in her seat and turned the volume of her radio up, so the soft country music of Leanne Rimes filled the car. She wondered where Lilith was now. Was she in town right at that moment, just a few miles away from where Miriana sat in her car? She could be helping, but instead she had been relegated to a supporting role, one more. Good old Miriana, useful for just about nothing.

Again, she found her mind wandered to Cas, and that all too familiar ache of desperate yearning lodged in her chest. She found the very thought of him was enough to soothe her raw nerves and her anger, but she wanted his physical presence, his arms around her.

She was daydreaming when a sharp rap on the window jerked her from her reverie. She glanced across to see Chuck stood beside her car with his grotty dressing gown clutched around him, holding a beer bottle in one hand.

"Bollocks," muttered Miriana, jabbing a button so the passenger side window rolled down slowly.

"You think I don't know you've been out here all night," he demanded.

Miriana went to twist her keys in the ignition, intending to start her car, "I'll go," she sighed.

"Actually," Chuck said, "I was thinking, if you're gonna pull a surveillance act on me, you might as well come in and have a beer."

***

Miriana came to realize that Chuck didn't really talk much. He just seemed to want to watch CSI re-runs all night in the dark with his precious bottle of vodka, which Miriana noticed was considerably less full than it had been last time. She perched on the end of his sofa, clutching the bottle of beer he had given her between her hands. An awkward silence hung over them, although Chuck didn't seem to notice. She was still wondering why he had invited her in in the first place. It wasn't for a chat at any rate.

"Can I ask you something?" she began, deciding to at least try and initiate a conversation.

He shrugged, "Sure."

"Do you know anything more about Sams' powers?"

She sensed him tense, although his face betrayed no emotion, "No. Not much more than you and Dean know."

She knew he was lying, she could see all the signs, all the body language of a person who wanted to hide something. She decided it might be best not to push him however.

"I see," she wasn't in the mood to have the fiery wrath of an archangel come raining down on her.

"Do you see me, in your...er...visions?"

Chuck kept his eyes glued to the television, "Sometimes, when you're with Sam and Dean. But apart from that, not really. Just flashes. I guess you're-"

"Just not that important," Miriana finished in a dull monotone.

She was surprised to find that Chuck pulled himself up from his slouch and turned to her, his pale blue eyes sincere, "You are important, okay? Maybe not to the angels, but Sam and Dean sure care about you."

He turned his attention back to television, "I can get inside their heads sometimes," he explained, "Kind of hear their thoughts when I see them. Sam worries about you a lot, but Dean...phew. Over protective is an understatement."

Miriana allowed herself a small smile, "Oh."

"He used to have a little thing for you," he said matter of factly, "Not so long ago, when he saw you again when Sam came back to hunting after Jessica. Just for a little while. He's over it now."

Although she had never thought of Dean in any other way than an incredibly close friend, it gave her self confidence, and her curiosity a little boost. What might have happened if he had chosen to act on his crush. Would she be Dean Winchesters' other half? She seriously doubted it; she couldn't imagine it working out somehow. She couldn't see herself as Deans' type.

"Do you see Cas when he's not with the Winchesters?" she asked casually.

Chuck let out a tiny chuckle.

"What?" she questioned.

"I know I don't see you much when you're not with the Winchesters, but from the tension between you two, I'm guessing you have a thing for him."

Miriana choked on the mouthful of beer she had drunk, "I...I do not."

"Well if it makes you feel better, I'd say he has thing for you too."

She tried not to look too pleased by this news, "Whatever. You're just making this up."

"I don't need to make stuff up," he said, tapping the side of his head.

They lapsed back into slightly more comfortable silence than before. Chuck pulled a blanket of the back of the couch and wrapped it around himself, groaning.

"I can feel a headache coming on," he muttered.

The silence fell again, and Miriana silently watched the television, which was now halfway through an episode of Law and Order, when suddenly there was a great crash originating from somewhere near the door. Chuck started, turning towards the source of the noise.

"What are you doing here?" Chuck asked, as Dean strode purposefully into the room, his face like thunder, "I didn't write this."

Miriana sprung to her feet as Dean leaned over Chuck and wrenched the alcohol from his hands, pulling him roughly to his feet, "Come on. I need you to come with me."

Chuck wrenched his arm out of Deans' grasp, "What? Where?"

"Motel where Sam is," Dean grunted out in reply.

Chuck looked absolutely horrified by this prospect, "That's where Lilith is."

"Yeah I need you to stop her," Dean snapped. Miriana fought the urge to burst out laughing. Chuck was perfectly nice, but she thought when he came to fighting demons, he would be about as useful as a chocolate fireguard.

"Are you insane?" Chuck asked, beating Miriana to it, "Lilith? I know what's she's capable of Dean. I wrote her."

"All right listen to me," Dean said, moving closer and using what Miriana would describe as his no nonsense voice, "You have an archangel tethered to you, okay? All you gotta do is show up and BOOM!" Chuck jumped about a foot in the air, "Lilith gets smoked."

"But I haven't seen that yet. The story-"

Dean sighed and closed his eyes, "Chuck, you're the only shot I have left."

"But...I'm just a writer."

"This isn't a story anymore man," he stressed, "This is real. And you're in it. Now I need you to get off your ass and fight."

Miriana sensed Dean was trying to appeal to Chuck's bravery, but she had a strong suspicion it wouldn't work. He walked away from Dean, pacing back and forth across the worn down carpet.

"Come on Chuck," he pleaded.

"What the hell are you doing?" she whispered to Dean.

"Cas helped me," he mumbled out of the side of his mouth.

Chuck turned to face the both of them, breathing heavily, "No frigging way!"

She saw Deans' face darken dangerously, "Then how about this?" he asked, stepping forwards, "I've got a gun in my pocket. If you don't come with me, I'll blow your brains out."

She instantly saw the gaping holes in that plan, and apparently, so did Chuck. With a slightly cocky tone to his voice, "I thought you said I was protected by an archangel?"

Dean nodded, "Well, interesting exercise. Let's see who the quicker draw is."

Miriana could tell from his face that he really meant it; he was quite prepared to risk the threat of an archangel. Chuck gave a defeated sigh.

"What do I have to do?"


	50. I'm With You

Miriana and Dean pulled to a screeching halt outside the motel Sam was staying, Dean dragging Chuck out of the car by the scruff of his neck. He hauled him over to the door, took a step back and kicked it so it flew inwards with a great splintering crash. Miriana caught a glimpse of Lilith leaning over Sam, grasping Ruby's blade in one hand. She whirled around at the sound of the noise, blond hair flying. Dean gave Chucks' shoulder a huge push so he staggered into the room.

"I am the prophet, Chuck," he said in a quavering voice.

Lilith climbed of the bed, looking furious, "You have _got_ to be joking!" she spat, stalking towards Chuck, who simply stood there and quivered.

At that moment, the room began to shudder and tremble, chunks of plaster dislodging from the wall and crashing to the floor.

"Oh this is no joke," Dean said, almost triumphantly, "You see Chuck here's got an archangel on his shoulder."

Lilith stayed rooted to the spot, whilst pictures began to fall from the walls and smash on the floor, and the windows rattled in their frames. Underneath all the rattling and crashing, Miriana could hear a high pitched noise, a constant whine, and she suddenly remembered where she had heard it before; when Castiel had first tried to talk to them in Pamela's house. A blinding white light shone through the windows, lighting the whole room with a cold, harsh intensity.

"You've got ten seconds before this whole room is full of wrath and you're a piece of charcoal," Dean shouted over the noise.

Miriana thought Lilith wouldn't move, as great chunks of the ceiling fell in front of her onto the cheap red carpet. Maybe she was hard faced enough to stay, or more worryingly, she was powerful enough to take the archangel on.

"You sure you wanna tangle with that?" Dean asked.

She cast one last, furious look at Sam, who was lying on the bed, pressed up against the wall, then she opened her mouth and a great thick stream of black smoke snaked out of her mouth and out through the window. The slender blonde woman she had been possessing slumped to the floor, her body limp, arms outstretched. Gradually the rattling and shaking of the room faded away to tremors, then nothing, and the light faded so the room was in half darkness once again.

Both Miriana and Dean moved closer to Lilith's host carefully, as if expecting her to suddenly burst back into life and murder them all, but she remained still. There was no noise in the room but the sound of Sam's panicked breath.

"Well, said Chuck, breaking the silence, "That's handy to know."

***

Miriana had driven a slightly terrified looking Chuck home and ensured that he got in safely, not that he needed her protection; he did have one of the most powerful creatures in all creation looking after him.

Back at the motel where the Winchesters were staying, Miriana was checking through her bags, ensuring she was packed for the next hunt she was heading off on. She slammed the boot of her car shut, turned around and walked straight into a figure behind her, a set of arms closing around her waist to steady her.

"You frighten the hell out of me when you do that," Miriana said breathlessly.

"I'm sorry, Cas said sincerely. Miriana noticed that he didn't remove his arms from around her waist but kept his iron hard hold around her.

"Dean told me you helped him," she said softly.

"He worked it out for himself," he said quietly, "I just gave him the information."

"But still, you didn't have to. So," she lifted her arms and locked them around his neck, pulling his lips down to hers. She felt his arms tighten around her waist so she was pressed very closely against him, her heart thumping away against his. She slowly slid her arms away from his neck, trailing her fingers down his shoulders and resting against his chest. He pulled away, blinking rapidly, his cheeks flushed and his eyes dark.

"Thank you," she finished.

"Y...you're very welcome," he stuttered. This seemed to be the first time he had ever gotten more flustered than her. She felt a little proud of herself.

He moved his hand up to her face and brushed a strand of dark hair away from her forehead, "I have to go soon," he murmured softly.

"Right."

He sighed heavily, moving his fingers down and tracing them across her lips, "I wish I didn't have to."

"Me too," Miriana said, smoothing her fingers down the material of his trench coat. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her; fierce enough to make her knees feel weak and her head to spin, almost painfully. She made a soft little noise into his mouth and leaned heavily against the boot of her car and his warm body pressed her against the metal, moving his hands from her face and down to rest against her waist, holding her steady. He gently took her bottom lip between his teeth before he pulled away, carefully holding her against him so her head rested against her shoulder. She would be quite content to stay in his arms all night. She sighed heavily and closed her eyes, breathing in his familiar scent of clean cotton, the faint trace of cologne and that smell that reminded her of summer and sunshine.

"I really need to go now," she felt the vibrations of his voice through his chest.

"Mmm hmm."

"Really," he continued, disentangling himself from her, taking a step backwards.

She caught his hand before he could leave, "When will I see you again?"

He sighed, "As soon as I can get away from them," he glanced up at the dark sky apprehensively, "I promise I'll come as quickly as I can."

He kissed her one last time before she felt him disappear, a cool breeze brushing over her face. She stayed leaning against the boot of her car, replaying the last few minutes over in her head. She remained lost in her warm memories until a voice from the shadows jerked her from her thoughts.

"So," said Dean's voice from the shadows.


	51. Dirty Little Secret

_Hi, hope you all enjoy this chapter and thanks so much for all the great reveiws everyone has left this week, I really appreciate it! :) I'll try and update again at the weekend :)_

"So," said Dean's voice from the shadows.

Miriana swore quietly under her breath. How long had he been watching from the darkness between the walls of the motel? She couldn't judge the expression on his face; it was too hidden in the darkness outside the circle of light cast by the streetlamp.

"Any chance you didn't see any of that?"

He didn't reply, "You and Cas?" he asked, his voice deceptively calm.

"I..." she stopped. What did they have between them? She wouldn't call it a fully fledged relationship, but they had some kind of bond, something that ran deep. Soul mates? Or did that seem a little ridiculous? She wasn't sure she even believed in them.

"I don't know," she finished.

Dean let out a short, bitter laugh, "You don't know! Miriana, you were chewing his face off a second ago! There's something going on there."

"It's complicated," was all Miriana could think to say.

"Complicated?" Dean stepped forwards, "You his girlfriend or something?"

"I've told you, I don't know," she was getting frustrated now, "What does it matter to you anyway?"

"Have you slept with him or what?"

Miriana choked, "Of course not! Not that it would be any of your business!"

"So what exactly is it between you? It's not sex, it's not a relationship, so what is it!?" he asked, exasperated.

Miriana threw her hands up in the air, "I don't know, how many times? Why are you being like this?"

"Because he's not good for you, Miriana," Dean replied, his voice rising in volume, "You think you can be happy with him? You think what you've got between the two of you is healthy? You think it's good for you?"

Miriana said nothing. She knew full well that her overwhelming infatuation for an angel was not in any way healthy.

"I know it's not," she said quietly, "But it's the closest I have to being with somebody. You know yourself; this job doesn't leave a lot of room for a relationship."

He shook his head, "But Cas? You know you're gonna end up getting hurt. That guy just doesn't understand humans, Miriana. He can't treat you the way you deserve to be treated. He can't look after you," his tone was far softer this time.

She slumped against the boot of her and cast her eyes to the ground, her happy mood deflated like someone had pricked it with a pin, "But I can't stop thinking about him."

Dean leaned against the bonnet next to her, "You'll get over him. Trust me."

"How the hell do you know?" she asked, feeling angry again.

He shrugged, "I just do."

She snorted derisively, "Right, because you're such a bloody expert on relationships. A string of one night stands and a ton of girls that hate your guts because you walked out on them!"

"Yeah, well you're hardly one to talk Miriana. What have you had in your life, some stalker crush on a celestial douche bag and a boyfriend you were stupid enough to get killed!"

That last statement felt like a punch to the face. Every bit of grief and guilt she had buried after Cristian's death welled up inside her like a tap had been opened inside. She saw in his face that he instantly regretted it, but that didn't stop the wave of hurt and anger from crashing over her. She pushed away from the bonnet of the car and swept towards the drivers' door, but he caught her arm.

"Come on Miriana, you know I didn't mean that," he implored, "I shouldn't have said that, I was being a dick," he tugged gently on her arm, "Come on."

She yanked her arm out of his grasp, but she didn't turn away from him. She slumped heavily against the side of her car and raised her eyes to the dark, starless sky, trying to ignore the fierce burn of tears behind her eyes and the hollow sensation the sound of Cristians' name had dredged up. She hadn't realized how cold it was, although she suspected having Cas's body pressed up against her had taken her mind of the chill somewhat, but she noticed now that her breath was rising in silvery clouds in front of her.

"What're you doing, huh?" Dean asked, far more gently this time, giving her a gentle nudge with his elbow, "Of all the people you could get, him?"

"I know," she admitted, "But he just...has this hold over me."

"Yeah, he certainly seemed to have a hold over you five minutes ago," he muttered under his breath, a hint of anger in his tone. She remembered Chuck's comment about Deans' over protectiveness from earlier and she felt a little more understanding of his reaction.

"I mean I get it," he continued, passing Miriana his flask of Jack Daniels, "He's got that brooding, rugged, 'I'm such a lost soul' thing going on, (Miriana rolled her eyes) and I know you chicks dig that. Hell, I've used that card a few times myself. I remember this time with this hot little blonde waitress, she had the cutest a-"

"Does this conversation have a point?" Miriana snapped, taking a swig of alcohol, wincing as it burned down her throat.

"Yeah, right," he said hastily, "Like I said, he's got the rugged thing going on, but that's all he has. Come on, Miriana you know you deserve better. You can't have a life with him."

"I know," she said again through gritted teeth. She knew he was trying to help her, but she couldn't help feeling furious with him.

"Can you imagine what his superiors will do if they find out?" he continued, "If that dick Uriel was anything to go by, they're not exactly the forgiving type, and I'm guessing engaging in 'sin' or whatever, with a woman is against their rules."

That was the one thing that frightened her most. Not fear for herself; she was more worried about what they would do to Cas if they found out. She'd been beaten and kicked about many times in her life and she was used to the pain, but she couldn't imagine the thought of them punishing him, the thought of him in pain.

"Come here," Dean said, gently pulling her into a hug, dissolving her anger. She turned her face into his plaid shirt, feeling the cool impress of the necklace he always wore digging into her cheek.

"Maybe I should set you up with someone," he mused, kissing the top of her head.

Miriana snorted, "Yeah right, like you know any young guys other than Sam. The only numbers in your phone book are all the girls you've slept with."

"There's always Bobby," he joked, releasing her and stepping backwards.

"God, no," she pulled a face and punched his arm, "He's more like my granddad o something. That's just wrong."

"So promise me you'll get over..." he paused, searching for the right words, "Whatever this is."

"I'll try."

Deans' face instantly darkened again, "No, you're gonna get over him. Don't keep stumbling into his arms like some drunken hooker."

She pushed off the bonnet of the car again, fighting the overwhelming urge to slap him, "Don't you dare tell me what to do! I'm not a child or some geeky teenager anymore, Dean! I'm a grown woman for God's sake! And if I want to see Cas, and if I want to 'chew his face off' as you put it, or even have wild sex with him, then I will!"

Dean pulled a face, "For Gods' sake Miriana, don't put disturbing images in my head!"

"Why? Me and Sam have to endure listening to you rant on about your conquests!" she snapped furiously, "Are you jealous, or something?"

Dean raised his eyebrows, "Why the hell would I be jealous?!"

"You had a crush on me," she said, "Chuck told me. Right after I visited you when Sam came back to hunting."

Dean looked at the ground, "That's bullshit."

"Yeah?! Then why would Chuck tell me? What could he possibly gain from making that up?!"

"All right fine," he blurted out, "I did for a bit. I mean, hell Miriana, I hadn't seen you in ages, and...I dunno you'd changed, or grown up a bit more or something. You were gorgeous and elegant and really smart, like Sam smart, and...I dunno, I guess I was just shocked. I still think you're all those things, but...I'm over it. It wouldn't have worked anyway."

She was slightly stunned by this unexpected confession, "If you're over it, then why the hell are you being like this? I would have thought the possibility of me getting laid might have cheered you up. You're always saying I'm way too uptight."

"Well number one," he held up a finger, "You are. And number two; stop talking about you and angel boy...fornicating. It makes me want to pour bleach into my brain."

Miriana couldn't stop herself from smiling at this.

"And I'm being all over protective because I know that you deserve the best. You deserve someone who can look after you, cos me and Sam aren't always there to do that. He just can't give you that."

"But-" she protested, but he cut across her.

"Don't argue," he growled, "I know what's best for you."

She kicked the tyre of her car in frustration, "I'm tired of talking about this," she pulled her car keys out of her pocket, "Let's just leave it."

"Fine," Dean bit back. He pulled her into a hug, but she could feel the tension in his shoulders.

"See you soon," he muttered into her shoulder.

"Yeah," she said quietly as he released her. She hated leaving things so tense with him. She watched him walk back to his motel room, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans. She was torn between wanting to apologize to him and slap him around the face. He just couldn't understand the way she felt towards Cas. She wasn't sure she understood it herself.

The sharp ringtone of her mobile startled her from her reverie. She fumbled in the pocket of her leather jacket until they closed the cool plastic of her phone. She checked the caller ID; she didn't recognize the number that flashed up on the screen.

"Hello?" she said tentatively into the receiver.

A male voice she didn't recognize replied, "Is this Miriana? Miriana Westchild?"

"Yes, who is this?" she had the feeling in her gut that this was not going to be good news.

"I'm Ethan, Ethan Hayford. We met once before, I'm one of Nate's friends' brothers."

She cast her mind back, and found some distance memory of an attractive dark haired guy she had met at Nate's eighteenth party a year ago, following his brother around to ensure he didn't drink himself into too much of a stupor.

"Right, yeah I remember. What's happened?" she asked anxiously.

He took a few seconds to reply, "It's your aunt, she's in hospital. It was demons."

_I hope you liked the way I wrote Dean; I wasn't sure if I'd got it right or if everyone would like it. Feedback and let me know! :) and on a totally random note, I can't wait for the next episode of supernatural, it looks amazing! ;)_


	52. Stay With You

_Hey hope you all enjoy this chapter, and a massive thanks as always to everyone who's left a reveiw or a favourite, big hugs to you all! ;) And on a completely different note, did anyone watch the point of no return this week? OMG Cas!!! And Adam!!! (Hope I've not ruined if for anyone who hasn't watched it but OMG) :)_

Miriana was certain she had broken every single speed limit driving down to Our Sister of Mercy Hospital in Maine. She felt sick with trepidation and anxiety. She didn't know the extent of her aunt's injuries; she hadn't asked Ethan anything but the most basic question of where is she? She wished she had asked, so at least she could prepare herself in some way. What if it she was so badly injured she never recovered, just languished in a coma until they switched the life support off? From what she had been told by others, that was the state that Miriana had been left in after the first run in with Reuben, relying on a machine to breathe for her and so close to death her aunt and Nate had considered letting her die. But she had fought back, pulled herself from her coma. But she was young and healthy; her aunt was far older and weaker.

She found her aunt's room on the third floor of the hospital, a cluster of people in the hallway outside the door. Nate's familiar figure broke away from the door and strode towards her, throwing his arms around her waist when he reached her. When he pulled away she noted the dark, sickly purple shadows underneath his eyes and the colourless pallor of his skin.

"You look exhausted," she said quietly.

"I am," he said, rubbing a hand across his forehead, "But I haven't had chance to stop."

"How is she?" she asked, her stomach clenching when she thought of the possibilities.

"She's awake, just about," Nate replied, "The nurse is in with her."

Miriana glanced over Nate's shoulder at the group of people gathered outside the door, "Who are this lot?"

"All my friends' brothers, sisters, friends, hunters, they all wanted to help us hunt down the demons that did this."

"Was it..." she swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly feeling bone dry, "Was it Reuben?"

Nate shook his head, "We don't think so. It was his coven we reckon, though." He turned to face the group of people, "I'll introduce you."

The circle of people parted to let the two of them in, "Guys, this is Miriana."

"The famous Ms. Westchild," said a burly, man at the back of the group, "Pleasure to finally meet you properly."

He was a thickest man with the build of what looked like a small rhino, with close cropped dark hair and coiling tattoos down his arm.

"This is Sawyer-" Nate began, but he cut across him by holding up his wide hand.

"Tank, please. I hate my name, I sound like some gay male model or something," he rumbled in his deep voice, folding his arms across his massive chest. Miriana could understand why his nickname was tank; he looked as strong and as powerful as one.

"Yeah, uh...Tank," Nate continued, "And his hunting buddies, Rhea," he gestured at a small, petite woman with a pale golden bob who waved and flashed a bright smile, "And her boyfriend, Frankie." A tall man dressed in battered jeans and a leather jacket with a head of dark, close cropped curls inclined his head towards Miriana.

"You know Jack," he said, thumping his friend on the shoulder, jerking him from his appreciative study of Miriana, blushing furiously.

"And this is his brother, Ethan." Looking at him, Miriana recognized him instantly. He was tall, even taller than Nate, although considerably more built up in the muscle department. He had dark chestnut hair with a fringe that swept across his forehead and unusually bright green eyes. There was a hint of golden tan in his skin tone and when he smiled at Miriana, he showed a set of perfect Hollywood teeth.

"We've met before," he said, extending his hand. Surprised by his formality, she hesitantly grasped his hand with her own, linking her fingers with his, "I'm so sorry about your Aunt."

"Thank you," she said earnestly, releasing his hand.

"It was Ethan who fought them off," said Nate, an admiring look in his eyes.

"Not on my own," he said hastily, looking at the tiles of the hospital floor, "The others helped me."

"Don't be modest dude," Nate lightly punched Ethan's arm, "You know that-"

But he was cut off at that moment by the sound of the door swinging open and the nurse appearing in the hall, carrying a clipboard.

"How is she?" Miriana asked.

"She's much better," the nurse replied, smiling, "The meds are helping with the pain and she seems like she'll heal well."

"Can we see her?" Nate questioned.

"Maybe just the two of you," she said, indicating Nate and Miriana, "She's just had a dose of pain meds so don't worry if she seems a little woozy."

The nurse moved away and Miriana and Nate passed through the small crowd of people, and Miriana noticed when she slipped past him that Ethan wore an aftershave that reminded her of Cristian. She couldn't help herself from inhaling deeply as he passed.

Her aunt was sat up in bed, leaning against the pillows, her eyes heavy. Miriana hissed when she saw the extent of her injuries. Both of her eyes were blackened a dark, unhealthy blue and there was a bruise across her chin that snaked up across her left cheek. Her bottom lip sported a deep cut, which had swollen her bottom lip up. Miriana could see more bruising down her collarbone and shoulders, leading underneath the white hospital gown.

"Nate, Miriana sweetie," she rasped, holding out her hand. Miriana sat down on the chair next to the bed and slid her hand between her aunt's cool, dry fingers.

"How are you?" Miriana asked, trying to hide the quaver in her voice and biting her lip to stop the flow of tears. She couldn't bear to see those she loved in pain; she often wished she could shoulder the pain for them herself.

"A bit battered," her aunt replied, "But getting there."

"We're gonna hunt the bastards who did this, aunt, I promise," Nate growled, taking his silver knife out of his pocket and flipping it rapidly back and forth between his long fingers.

Eve shook her head and frowned, "No you won't, of you, including that lot out there," she snapped, pointing at the crowd of people just visible through the blinds of the window that faced into the corridor.

"But they're demons," Nate said, exasperated, "Why not kill them?!"

"Because I say so," Eve said, her voice rough, effectively ending the conversation.

Nate grumbled something under his breath and threw himself into the nearest chair, looking sullen. Miriana flashed him a sympathetic smile; she wanted revenge just as much as she did, but experience had taught her it was best not to go rushing in with a head full of raging emotions.

"We'll be careful," Miriana said softly, "The other hunters will help us; we'll be fine."

"No, Miriana," her aunt said forcefully, "Just leave it."

Miriana laughed softly, "You know us," she said, "We can never 'just leave it'."

Eve glanced at the group of hunters still clustered in the hallway, "As long as you take them with you."

"We will," Miriana said. Nate punched thin air behind him and Miriana rolled her eyes.

"Nate do me a favour, sweetheart," Eve said, turning to face him, "Go and get me a tea from the machine."

He got up from the chair and slouched out, the door swinging shut behind him.

"I need to tell you something, Miriana," he aunt began, her voice intense, "I was in your father's pickup when I was attacked."

Miriana was unsure of the significance of this, "And?"

"Do you remember the picture of that knife I showed you? The knife that's like the one Ruby has?"

Miriana felt her heart rate quicken a little at the mention of the weapon. She remembered the picture of the savage looking knife, noting it's similarity to the one the Winchesters effectively stole off of Ruby.

"I found it," she said, "But they came as soon as I did. Your father's place used to be set up with all kinds of traps, but I guess over time some of them had failed and they got to me."

Miriana swallowed hard, "Where is it?" She already knew the answer.

"The demons have it. They said they were taking it to Reuben."

Miriana felt her whole body run cold when she heard his name, as if someone had poured ice into her veins. She always felt his hands running all over her skin when someone spoke about him, felt the cold tickle of his breath on the back of her neck as if they had summoned him into the room. She rubbed her forehead, suddenly realising that it wouldn't be as straight forward as she expected.

Nate bounded into the room at that moment, carrying a paper cup. He passed it to Eve,

"One tea, no sugar."

He looked between the two of them, noting the worried expressions on their faces, "What's happened now?"

***

The hospital was only forty five minutes away from her Aunt's house in New Richmond, so she drove herself and Nate home. She had sat in the hospital cafeteria for over an hour with the other hunters, trying to work out the best plan to deal with the demons and get the knife back and after hours they eventually staggered out of the hospital, exhausted. She had offered the others rooms at her Aunt's house, but they all had motel rooms booked and politely declined, even though she had the impression that Jack had been more than keen to sleep in the room next to Miriana's. It was only Ethan's furious glare and punch to the arm that had stopped him from saying yes.

Once she pulled into the drive, Nate wearily clambered out of the car, and with a mumbled 'goodnight' to Miriana and a quick hug, he traipsed up the wide staircase, slouching across the landing to his room. Miriana watched his slow process and couldn't help but think about how much older and more mature he seemed all of a sudden. It didn't seem right that Nate was sorting out all the problems with their Aunt; organising the family affairs was Miriana's job. She was used to looking after Nate and guiding him, and she felt incredibly guilty that she hadn't been there for him to help him deal with the attack on their Aunt. She switched the lights off in the kitchen and checked that all the doors in the house were securely locked, and for good measure she went down into the basement and grabbed a bag of rock salt, salting the windows and doors. Exhausted, she headed towards her room.

She inhaled the familiar smell of books and fresh linen when she pushed open the door of her bedroom, switching on the small bedside lamp and casting the room in a warm, amber glow. She scrubbed her thick eyeliner off with makeup wipes and changed into comfortable sweatpants and an old, tattered t-shirt. She walked over to the full length window that faced out over the garden and the sharply sloping cliff that led down to Lake Pleasant. It was almost fully dark now, the sky a deep powdery blue, scattered with the first few, brightest stars. The dark, tall trees that lined her Aunt's well tended garden were completely still, the silvery surface of Lake Pleasant completely unruffled. It was perfectly still and peaceful outside, but it didn't match with the emotions and anxieties raging through her.

She felt the very slightest breeze behind her, raising the hairs on the back of her neck and she heard the soft sound of feathers. She turned to find Castiel stood behind her, her own personal heaven sent. Before she could stop herself, she crossed the distance between them as quickly as she could and threw her arms around him, turning her face into his chest, breathing him in. She thought for a second that he might push her away, but almost instantly she felt his arms folding across her back, pulling her against him.

"I'm so sorry about your Aunt," he said softly into her hair, "I would have helped her, but I just...I didn't know. I'm so sorry, I've let you down."

She pulled back far enough so she could see his face, lifting her hand to brush against his cheek, "You haven't let me down at all. You're not my guardian angel; I can't expect you to chase me and the rest of my family all over America watching out for us."

He shook his head, "I should have helped her. I should have known."

"Cas, stop it," she said gently, "You have other duties. It's not in any way your fault."

He gently leaned down and kissed her forehead, tracing his lips down over the bridge of her nose and finally pressing his lips against hers, barely applying any pressure.

"How is she?" he murmured, pulling back a little. He still hadn't let her go from his hold.

"She's okay," she replied, "A little battered, but she'll be fine."

"Good," he sighed, as if he was relieved, "That's good."

"How long can you stay with me?" she asked, secretly hoping there wouldn't be a time limit.

"As long as you want," he said, slowly sliding his hands underneath her t-shirt so they rested against the bare skin at the base of her spine.

Suddenly, she heard Dean's voice in her head, asking her what would happen if the superior angels found out about her and Cas, demanding to know what exactly their relationship was. She looked away from his gentle eyes, focusing on the sapphire blue material of his tie.

"What about your superiors, Cas? What have they said about..." she cleared her throat, "You know...us?"

She felt the rise and fall of his chest as he sighed, "They don't know. They only suspect."

"And if they find out? I'm guessing they won't be happy?" she said, her voice quavering ever so slightly.

"No. They would not be happy," his answer was curt, and his shoulders were suddenly drawn tight with tension.

"What if they do find out? What if they tell you to stay away?"

He gently pressed two fingers under her chin, lifting her face to his, "I can't bear to be away from you."

"But-" she began, but she was cut off by him bringing his lips down against hers hard, almost with bruising force. She swayed and his arms tightened around her, supporting her against him. His hands slid up her top a little further, up to the bottom of her bra strap, tracing her spine with his fingertips, massaging her aching muscles with his thumbs. She gripped her hands tightly around his collar and tie while his lips clashed with hers, squeezing her eyes tight shut, seeing stars against the inside of her eyelids. He finally pulled away, leaving her breathless and light headed, clinging to him almost desperately. For a two thousand year old soldier of God, he didn't half know how to kiss her.

He traced his fingers across the dark, purple hollows underneath her eyes, the spark of concern in his dark eyes, "You need to rest."

She nodded, pulling away from him and dropping heavily onto the mattress, "Will..." she felt suddenly self conscious, "Will you stay with me?"

"Of course," he said, gracefully sitting down in the chair that faced her bed. She didn't move. He hadn't quite got the idea, so it seemed.

"Aren't you going to sleep?" he asked, watching her carefully.

"I was thinking you could..." she felt herself blushing furiously, "Come a little closer."

He frowned, tilting his head to the side, regarding her curiously with his bright eyes, "I don't follow you."

Rolling her eyes, she got up from the bed and took his hands in hers, tugging gently so he stood. She reached up and slowly slid the trench coat off his shoulders, throwing it past him so it landed on the chair. His panicked eyes followed its movement, his breathing rate rapidly increasing.

"W...What are you doing?" he rasped breathlessly.

She pulled his suit coat off and it joined his trench coat in a heap on the chair, "Relax," she said softly, "People don't sleep in so many clothes.

"O...okay," he stuttered. She felt his whole body jerk when her fingers brushed against the hot skin of his stomach as she un-tucked his shirt. She smiled at his nervousness; it was so endearing.

"Relax," she said again. She gently tugged his tie loose, just enough so she could undo the top button of his white shirt. He shivered and closed his eyes when her fingers gently skimmed over his Adams' apple and down over his jumping pulse.

She took his hands again, pulling him towards her bed. She sat down and swung her legs up onto the bed, grabbing the blanket that was folded at the end of her bed. He lay on the bed next to her, his body tense, his chest rising and falling rapidly; she could see his long fingers trembling. She rolled over carefully onto her side so her body pressed against his, the heat of him seeping through the thin material of his white shirt. She pulled his arm up and over her head so it rested against her back, and she laid her head against his chest, feeling the strong beat of his heart underneath her cheek. As close as she was, she could feel every tremor of his body, feel his rapid pulse thundering through his veins.

"It's okay," she murmured, "I won't bite."

"I...I've never done this before," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I know," she said, resting her hand over his heart. It felt like she was lying next to a radiator, he was so hot.

"You're so warm," she murmured sleepily.

"I was born from heaven's fire," he said matter of factly. She could feel him relaxing a little as each second passed, his muscles uncoiling.

"Mmmm," she said in response, feeling her eyes start to drift shut. She felt his hand gently brush against her cheek and forehead and she heard him murmur something that she couldn't make sense of her. She tried to say goodnight, but she was asleep before she could get her mouth to form the words.


	53. If you want blood You got it

_Hi, I hope you all enjoy this chapter. I got some amazing reveiws this week, so thank you so much!! I really need to try and reply to them this weekend, so I'll try and do it tommorrow. Anyhoo, huge thanks as always to everyone who has reveiwed, bug hugs to you all. ;) And on a random note, I'm so excited for glee this week. I apologize to anyone who hates it, but I am unashamed to call myself a gleek. Its my second favourite show under supernatural! New episodes of Glee and Superntural all in one week; I'm just a bit excited! Thats enough rambling from me! ;)_

After a while, Castiel had found that holding Miriana while she slept was far more comfortable than he could have imagined. At first it had been uncomfortably, intimately close, her slender body pressed so tightly against his, but after a while he found he was completely content to just lie there with her. He glanced across at the chair where his jacket and coat lay in a pile. Since he had come to earth he had never removed or adjusted one article of clothing, and he felt surprisingly vulnerable without the rest of his outfit, although he had to admit, he felt more comfortable without so many layers of clothes on. It was a night of firsts for him; he had never even lain on a bed before, let alone with a woman.

Next to him, Miriana stirred a little in her sleep and clutched her fingers tighter around the material of his white shirt, pressing herself even closer to him. He gently took the hand that lay on his chest and slipped his fingers through hers, locking them tightly together. He listened to her steady breathing, feeling the gentle rise and fall of her chest against his. She looked so beautiful when she slept, he thought; completely peaceful and untroubled. The soft smell of her fresh, citrus perfume hung in the air, over the sheets and pillows, heady and intoxicating.

She had raised the issue of superiors previously in the night, and he could sense she was worried. She had never even mentioned his superiors before, that he could remember, at least. He wondered what had put the thought in her head; perhaps Embriel? He knew there was a very realistic possibility that Zachariah already knew what he was doing; he had dropped so many hints into their conversations. Before, the possibilities had terrified him, and they still did, but he found everything he felt for Miriana far outweighed any fear he had. He didn't know what was happening to him; two thousand years of loyal service and unwavering faith and devotion had been overturned by her mere presence, and she didn't even know she was doing it. Every time he saw her his insides felt as if he had just lost his footing on a cliff, like he was falling too fast to stop himself. In all of his long, lonely years, he'd never felt a rush of unknown emotions like he had with Miriana, never felt anything so strong in his life.

He glanced at the clock next to the bed; it read three thirty in the morning. The time passed so quickly when he was with her. As he glanced at the clock, he noticed a picture in a gilded silver frame stood on the bedside cabinet. Being careful not to disturb her, he gently picked up the frame and held it in front of him, scrutinizing it in the dim light emanating from her lamp. The picture showed Miriana, younger than she was now, little more than a teenager, with her slender arms wrapped around the waist of a tall, dark haired man, wide smiles plastered across both their faces. He thought Miriana always looked beautiful, but he had never imagined she could look so radiant, so happy. He felt a sudden irrational stab of jealousy towards the man in the photograph, whom he took to be Cristian; he hadn't ever seen her look that happy when she was with him. He wished he could make her smile so widely. He knew that she had been deeply in love with Cristian, the mere memory of her emotions for him shone through her memories like a beacon. He had seen inside her head, it was one of his many talents as an angel. He had seen the overwhelming, crushing sense of guilt that she carried around in her chest like a lead weight over his death, weighing her down. Her soul was so much like Deans', although of course hers wasn't tainted by the trials and suffering of hell, but they both were heavy with responsibilities, guilt, worry for those around them, and underlying it all, fear. Despite all of that, he had still felt love and hope in there somewhere; Dean too. He couldn't imagine what it would feel like to be constantly afraid of what was happening around them. He was well aware that there were few things on the earth that could harm him or cause him pain, but Miriana was so much more fragile; compared to him, she was as delicate as glass.

He was jerked from his reverie by the sound of her mumbling his name. He froze, thinking that she had awoken, but when he looked at her, her eyes were still tightly closed and her breathing was still steady. She turned her face into his chest a little more, murmuring his name again. He felt that unusual sensation of the little used muscles around his mouth pulling upwards into a smile. She was dreaming about him.

He didn't need to sleep; he didn't require his energy to be replenished, but he felt quite content to close his eyes and just be with her. He lazily traced a pattern across the bare arm that was flung across his chest with his fingertips, moving over the pentagram tattoo on her shoulder and following the fluidly curling black lines over her skin. With a casual flick of his fingers, he turned the bedside lamp off, preferring to be wrapped in the darkness with her.

***

When Miriana woke up in the morning, she rolled over onto her side, wincing when something hard dug into her ribs. She couldn't work out what she was lying on, but it was pressing very uncomfortably against her chest.

"Miriana- you're cutting off the blood supply to my arm," a quiet, gruff voice said behind her.

She sat up so quickly her head spun and her eyes stung with the sudden bright light that stabbed into her skull. She looked around to see Castiel lying on his back next to her, watching her closely. She had completely forgotten he was there.

"Good morning," he said, sitting up, the blankets rucking up around his waist.

"Err...good morning," she said hesitantly. She took in the dishevelled state of his clothes and the lack of his suit jacket and trench coat, "Did you stay here all night?"

He frowned, "Of course. Did you not want me to?"

"No!" she said hastily, "No I'm glad you stayed."

He let out a small relieved sigh, "Good."

She was incredibly touched that he had stayed all night, and she leaned forwards and gently brushed her lips against his, running her fingertips over the small amount of bare skin that showed above the top of his white shirt, feeling the goose-bumps rise up across his skin. His hands moved from the mattress and to the small of her back, pushing gently so she was pressed against him. She pulled away to drag a breath into her lungs and he recaptured her lips, leaning back a little against the wooden headboard of her bed. He pulled away with a frustrated groan.

"What?" she asked.

He glanced up towards the ceiling, his head tilted to the side as if he was listening to something, "They require my presence."

"Your superiors?" she questioned, although she already knew the answer. He nodded, gently extricating himself from her and standing, heading over to the chair in the corner where his tie, suit jacket and trench coat lay. He picked up the tie and looked at it as though it held some fascinating information, a frown across his forehead. He draped it around his collar and laid one side of tie over the other, as if expecting it to just knot itself. She watched him struggle for a few more seconds with an amused expression on her face before she took pity on him and went to help him.

"Come here," she said softly. She buttoned his shirt up to the collar and quickly knotted his tie, aware that he was scrutinizing her carefully. His eyes up close were so intense they seemed to burn her skin.

"What?" she asked again, meeting his gaze.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured. She felt herself blush furiously, her cheeks burning so powerfully she half expected her skin to burst into flames. She grabbed his jacket from the chair just to have an excuse to look anywhere but his face.

"I'm not," she said, her voice quavering, "Especially not in the mornings."

"You are," he said, holding her transfixed with his eyes, "My Father created a work of art when he made you."

She wanted to make a comment about being an atheist, and that the only person she had to thank for any looks she had was her mother, but she was so overwhelmed by what he said there was no room for any comprehensive thought.

"I don't know about that," she said, helping him shrug the jacket onto his frame.

He kissed the back of her hand, caressing his lips across her knuckles, "I do. And I'm far older and wiser."

She laughed gently, "You're so sweet."

He frowned, "Sweet?"

"Yeah, it means kind...you know?"

"Not really," he said, shaking his head. A frown flitted across his features again, "They're being persistent. I have to go."

He kissed her forehead and stepped back from her, vanishing on the spot. Sighing, she grabbed his trench coat that he had left behind and waited, holding it out to thin air. A few seconds later he reappeared in the same spot he had vanished, looking sheepish.

"I forgot my-"

"I know," Miriana said, passing him the coat, smiling. She saw the corners of his lips quirk up ever so very slightly, the closest thing she had seen to a smile on his face. He vanished again, and she sighed heavily and headed towards her en-suite bathroom, switching on the shower. She stripped off her sweatpants and tattered t-shirt and folded them carefully, placing them on the end of her bed. Just as she was about to step into the shower, there was a loud persistent knocking at the door. She tugged a fluffy white towel from the rack and wrapped it around herself, throwing the door back to find Nate on the other side of the door, his mobile in his hand.

"What?"

"It's Ethan," Nate replied, gesturing to his mobile, "He's got the locations of the demons.

She felt her heart jump a little in her chest along with a rush of adrenalin at the possibility of a fight.

"Where?" she asked.

"An old house out of town. They're all there."

"Give me twenty minutes."

***

Nate and Miriana met at the end of the long, rugged road that led to the old abandoned house that Ethan had found when he was scrying for the demons. Tank, Rhea, Jack and Frankie were all leaned against the side of an ancient looking, faded red Chevy truck that looked as if it could survive a nuclear blast and had been in more than a few scrapes, if the dents in the fender was anything to go by. Parked next to them was a sleek, perfectly polished Harley Davidson motorbike, beside which stood Ethan in a biking leather jacket and leather gloves, a black helmet clutched under his arm. Miriana pulled up alongside, feeling that her top of the range, glossy modern car with all the technological trimmings looked slightly out of place amongst the old, classic vehicles. She climbed out of the car and joined the other hunters.

"Right, here's the deal," Tank began in a clipped, business-like voice before Rhea cut across him.

"Cut the army major crap, Tank," she said, laughing, "Can't you just tell us like a normal human being?"

Tank shot the petite blond woman a furious look before continuing, "As I was saying, there are at least six demons in that house down the road, maybe more. I reckon we go in with the shotguns, take them down with the holy water and the rock salt rounds, Frankie you keep a hold on the Paolo Santo, and Rhea, you chant the exorcisms. If we can get them trapped in a room and pour salt under the door that might make it easier."

"Where's the knife?" Miriana asked.

Tank sighed, "We're pretty sure they have it. We reckon they're like Reuben's top guys, you know. They're probably gonna be keeping it safe for him."

"Then we need to keep one of them in their host if we can," Frankie intoned in a deep voice, "Get the truth out of them if we can't find it."

"Good idea," Ethan piped up.

"Right, we need weapons. Miriana," Tank said, turning to her, "Is it okay if Ethan uses some of your stuff? We didn't really bring enough."

"Of course," Miriana said, flashing Ethan a quick smile. His answering smile was dazzling.

Miriana headed over to the boot of her car and flung it open, Ethan sidling next to her.

"I take it you ride motorbikes," she said, trying to strike up a conversation.

"Yeah, I love them," he said enthusiastically, "Have you ever ridden?"

"I used to," she said, tugging a shotgun free and handing it to Ethan, "When Cristian was alive. He loved them too."

She guessed Ethan picked up on the slight quaver in her voice, because he gently placed his hand over hers, "I'm sorry about Cristian. Nate told me all about him. I met him a few times. Great guy; fantastic hunter."

"Thank you," she said earnestly, aware that his long fingers were still wrapped loosely around her hand. He glanced down quickly as if he realized what he was doing and quickly moved his hand away, clearing his throat.

"So...uh....motorbikes," he continued, "You used to ride them, huh?"

She was glad he had sidestepped that awkward moment; she was never the best in tense social situations.

"Yeah, I used to ride quite a lot. I've probably forgotten now."

"Well then I guess I could re-teach you," he said hesitantly. Miriana noticed there was a dark blush spread across his clear, golden skin, "If you'd like."

She didn't answer. She would love to spend time with Ethan; he seemed like such a gentleman and fun, too, and she would love to learn to ride again. But she couldn't help but think about how Castiel would react. She almost felt like she was cheating on him. She knew it was ridiculous, there wasn't really anything close to a relationship between them, but she still couldn't help but feel like she was being traitorous, worried that she would hurt him.

"Only if you want, I mean you don't have to, it was just a suggestion," he babbled, his flushed cheeks darkening, "I didn't mean to-"

She cut across him, "I'd love to."

He broke into a smile so wide and infectious she couldn't help but grin herself.

"Can we stop the flirting please," Tank demanded, pushing rock salt rounds into a shotgun, "We have demons to gank."

Ethan flushed furiously again and punched Tank in his massive, meaty shoulder. Miriana suspected it would have about as much effect as punching a block of concrete and hoping it would crack, "Shut up, dude."

Miriana caught sight of Frankie smirking, opening his mouth no doubt to make a snide comment, before Rhea elbowed him in the ribs with a warning expression on her face. When she caught Miriana looking, she gave her a sheepish smile and shrugged.

Miriana threw a shotgun to Nate who caught it, checking it for rounds. She felt in her pockets, finding her handgun loaded with consecrated iron bullets, just in case, and felt for the cool metal of her silver flask full of holy water.

"Are we heading off or what?" Tank asked, flexing his muscular arms, "I need to kick something's ass."

Rhea rolled her eyes, "You're a typical, testosterone fuelled idiot."

"Whatever, small fry," he quipped, "We're going."

They set off down the potholed road, Tank and Rhea continuing to bicker away in front of them, Frankie following silently behind them, looking amused. Miriana found the banter between the group of hunters incredibly entertaining; it reminded her of Sam and Dean before they had gone through hell, metaphorically and literally, in Dean's case.

Ethan matched her pace, "Sorry about them," he muttered.

"Don't be," she said, "Are they always like this?"

He sighed heavily, "Always."

"I'm used to it. Sam and Dean used to drive me mad."

"I forgot you know the Winchesters," he said, conversationally, although she thought she could detect more than a little curiosity in his tone. The famous Winchesters; it seemed everyone in the hunting world knew about them, unless they'd had their heads buried in the ground.

"Yeah," Miriana said, not in the mood to discuss the Winchesters, "For a long time."

He seemed to sense she didn't want to gossip about them, because all he said in response to this was "Huh."

They reached the gate that lead into the wild, tangled garden of the dilapidated house, Miriana casting her eyes apprehensively over the crumbling facade and dark, glassless windows. A spooky and malevolent enough abode for demons to hide in, Miriana thought. Frankie pushed open the gate, which swung back on its rusted hinges, screeching in protest. He and Tank went first, raising their shotguns to their shoulders, carefully picking their way down the jagged pavestones that led to the collapsed porch. There was no noise but the sound of their boots whispering through the dry, knee high grass and the early afternoon breeze hissing through the leaves on the trees. She half expected something to come rushing at them, but the front of the house and the surrounding garden remained completely still. Miriana and Ethan reached the porch first and they pressed themselves against the bleached wood of the house on either side of the door, listening carefully. She could hear the faint murmur of voices inside. Ethan met her eyes, and she nodded curtly. He took a step back and kicked the door, which burst inwards, showering a hail of splinters and peeling paint flakes into the dark, musty hall inside.

There was a rush of action as soon as she stepped through the door, a flurry of noise and activity. The three demons that had been gathered in the hall whirled at the sound of the noise, covering their eyes when the harsh light from outdoors spilled into the shadowy hall. Miriana raised her shotgun and squeezed the trigger, flooring the first demon that ran towards her. Whilst he struggled to get up from the mouldy carpet, Frankie tossed her a savage looking stake of Paolo Santo, which she caught as she planted a knee against the demons chest, plunging the consecrated wood deep into his shoulder, wincing as the flesh sputtered and hissed like a candle that had been blown out. He hissed and spat, clawing at Miriana's face, but he couldn't get anywhere near, pinned as he was to the floor, unable to fight against the strength of the wood. As she got to her feet, she felt a pair of cold hands grab hold of her from behind, savagely yanking her backwards up the hard wooden stairs, the back of her legs banging painfully against the sharp edge of every step. She tried to grab one of the posts on the wooden barrier and drag herself away, but every time she managed to get a grip on the banister, was pulled back even more savagely. Determined not to be dragged off so unceremoniously upstairs, Miriana reached into her pocket and tugged loose the cool flask of holy water, unscrewing the top. She pitched the contents behind her shoulder, hearing the satisfactory sound of the purified water splashing into the demons face, followed by the roar of agony and the hissing sound of unholy flesh being seared away. The constricting arms around her slackened and she pushed through his hold, suddenly aware that she was right at the top of the stairs, teetering dangerously on the top stair. She felt herself slip, but before she could feel any part of her body collide with the stairs an arm caught her, stopping her fall.

"You okay?" asked Ethan's voice in her ear, his arm breath tickling against the shell of her ear.

"Yeah," she said breathlessly, pulling back so she could see his vivid green eyes, "Thanks."

He hesitantly released her, turning and rushing back down the steps, Miriana following him. She caught sight of Rhea pressed up against the wall, the spidery hand of one of the demons that hadn't been trapped or floored yet tight around her throat while she tried to choke out the exorcism incantation. Four demons lay on the floor, pinned down with stakes of Paolo Santo, hissing and spitting. Miriana raised her handgun, having dropped her shotgun when she had been grabbed by the demon, and aimed at the back of the demon that was slowly choking the life out of Rhea, and pumped the trigger once. The iron bullet whipped through the air and drilled through the leather jacket that the demon wore, slicing through the skin underneath. With a scream of agony, the demon released its hold on a panicked looking Rhea, thudding heavily into the floorboards. Rhea instantly whipped a stake from her pocket and jammed it straight through the demons chest, sinking it in so deep it almost disappeared. She got to her feet, massaging her throat and flicking back her glossy blonde hair, and in a hoarse voice, began to recite the Latin words that would banish the demons back to hell. Miriana closed her eyes when the five demons trapped in the room opened their mouths, a foetid cloud of black smoke pouring from their mouths, snaking towards the ceiling and out of the room through any available cracks, dissipating until the room was silent once again. There was no sign of Nate or Jack. Over in the far corner of the cavernous room, Tank was kneeling next to an apparently unconscious Frankie, whose eyes were flickering slightly under his eyelids. Rhea let out a small gasp and dashed towards him, dropping to her knees next to him on the dusty floor, cradling his head.

"He'll be fine," Tank rumbled in his deep voice, "Just a little concussion is all."

Rhea continued to tend to Frankie, and Miriana couldn't help but see the tenderness and concern in her eyes. It was obvious how much she loved him. She wondered if she looked that way when Cas was around.

"Where's Nate and Jack?" she asked suddenly, feeling a sudden burst of fear.

"Here," said a voice from behind them. Miriana whirled to see Nate supporting a battered looking Jack; his nose was bleeding profusely, there was a deep gash across his pale forehead and eyes were glazed and vacant. Ethan broke away from her side and dashed to his brother, catching him by his slight shoulders and supporting him, taking his weight from Nate, who looked relatively unscathed.

"Are you alright?" she asked, touching the slight shadow of a bruise on his cheek. He nodded, and Miriana could see a spark of excitement in his dark eyes. She couldn't understand what he was possibly excited about.

"We've got one of the demons trapped in a ring of salt upstairs," he said, his voice breathless with excitement, "And guess what I nabbed from him."

He felt inside his jacket and slowly, no doubt for dramatic effect, pulled a blade from his pocket. When he lifted it in front of Miriana's eyes, she took in the short length of the smooth silver blade, the jagged, savage edge, so familiar. She glanced at the curling patterns on the blade, etched in smoky grey metal, identical to the blade she had seen grasped in the Winchesters' hands so many times.

"Oh my God," she breathed, carefully and almost reverently taking the knife from Nate, as if she was an archaeologist that had just stumbled across her first fragile, historical find.

"That's exactly what I thought," Nate said, almost triumphantly.


	54. Hard to Love You

_Hi guys, a ridiculously long chapter, but hopefully you'll enjoy it :) Thanks for the amazing reviews I got this week, I really appreciate everyone taking the time to review :)_

To any outsider, they must have slightly strange; seven adults, two of whom were slumped against the table, somewhat concussed, sat around a large battered table, all of them staring at the savage looking knife lying in the middle of the table like some twisted version of spin the bottle, whilst outside a pyre of bodies burned. Needless to say, none of the demons' hosts had survived. It seemed even without the fight with the hunters, their bodies were completely broken; obviously the demons liked to abuse their hosts as much as possible.

"Does it really kill demons?" Rhea asked in a hushed voice, poking the wooden handle of the knife so it quivered a little.

"If it's like the knife the Winchesters have, then...yeah," Miriana answered.

"It looks like a kitchen knife that my Mom has," Tank mused, frowning.

"It looks nothing like a kitchen knife, dude," Ethan mumbled, running one fingertip across the blade.

"What if it's not real?" Rhea questioned.

"We need something to test it on," Ethan muttered.

"Well then I guess it's pretty fortunate we've got a demon pinned down upstairs," Jack piped up, shaking himself out of his apparent stupor.

Miriana picked the knife up, grasping it firmly by the smooth wooden handle, "I guess we should go and test it then."

The demon was throwing itself against the door, rattling it in its frame, screaming profanities and hurling abuse at them.

"Jesus Christ, he doesn't sound happy," said Ethan, eyeing the rattling doorknob and quivering wood apprehensively.

"Right, I open the door, Ethan and Tank you hold it back, and get it inside this devils trap," Rhea said, gesturing at the freshly painted pentagram down the hall, "We need to keep it pinned in case the knife doesn't work."

Miriana kept to the back of the group, holding the knife tightly by her side whilst Nate moved to the side of the door, sweeping the line of salt out of the way and closing his fist around the handle.

"Ready?"

He gave the door a huge heave and the demon burst from the room, ducking straight beneath Tank and Ethan's arms and heading straight for Miriana. She tried to lift the knife in time, but the demons' fist crashed into her cheek, so hard she felt certain her cheekbone would shatter. Before she had chance to draw breath he punched her hard in the stomach so she doubled over in agony, gasping. He went for her again, his dark eyes burning with hatred, but Tank managed to fold his huge, muscular arms across his chest, pinning him back. He dragged him back, and with Ethan's help he managed to deposit him inside the jagged lines of the devils trap.

"Are you okay?" a voice asked in Miriana's ear. She turned to see Rhea crouched next to her, her slim hand on her shoulder. Miriana nodded, wincing as she coughed up a mouthful of coppery blood onto the threadbare carpet. She took Rhea's outstretched hand and clambered to her feet, slipping the blade through her leather belt. The demon was throwing itself against the edge of the trap, regarding them all with furious eyes.

"Very good," the demon spat, "Really took a lot of skill, that."

"Shut up," Tank growled.

"Make me," he bit back.

"Oh don't worry, you'll shut up in a minute," Miriana snapped, wiping the last traces of blood away from her lips.

The demon turned it's cold eyes on her, a cruel smirk lighting up his face, "Miriana. I wondered when you'd show your pretty little face. Reuben told us to keep our eyes out for you, said anyone who brought you to him would get a _wonderful_ prize. You know, a slaughtering spree in a town or a night with the local virgins. He's really quite obsessed with you."

She noticed the other hunters regarding her with curious expressions, "Well you won't be getting any sort of prize, virgins or not. You're won't be going anywhere."

"Yeah? I just smoke out of my meat suit and find another host," he showed the perfectly, straight white teeth of his host, "No worries."

Miriana pulled the knife slowly from its makeshift sheath on her belt, watching the demons eyes widen in response, "You look a little worried about this."

"Got you by the bollocks now, huh?" Tank said, breaking out into a wide grin.

The demon turned to him, "You know your sister? She died screaming, right? While that daeva tore into her? And you just couldn't save her, you useless-"

"Shut your filthy mouth," Tank rumbled, taking a threatening step forward. Rhea placed a hand over his arm, "Don't Tank."

"And you," the demon hissed, turning on Rhea, "Your sisters in a mental hospital now, isn't she? Went a bit crazy after everything she saw, all because you couldn't protect her."

"How do you know that?" Rhea whispered through barely moving lips, her face as white a sheet.

"I know lots of things, honey," the demon said, a cold mocking edge in his voice, "Just like I know Frankie had to watch his friends die when those vampires burned his college apartment to the ground. And Ethan over here," the demon tutted slowly, "was miles away from home with that lovely girl when those demons came for his dear old mom and put her insides on her outsides. Even though he promised his brother he would look after her."

"Shut up," Ethan growled, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were white.

"And as for you," the demon said, finally switching his gaze to Miriana, "Your boyfriend is burning in hell. I can practically hear his skin sizzling off."

She'd heard enough of his mocking tone, had seen the horrified looks on the other hunters faces, and above all else, she couldn't bear the thought of Cristian in hell. With fury churning like fire in her stomach she stepped forwards in the pentagram, not caring if the demon could hurt her, and swung the knife through the air. She plunged the savage blade into the base of the demons skull, twisting through the soft flesh with a sharp twist. A dull, fiery red light flickered behind the demons skin, showing the silhouette of the skull underneath and there was a hissing, crackling noise. With a tremendous heave, and a sickening squelch, she wrenched the knife free and the demon slumped to the floor, the smoky light vanishing as quickly as it had appeared, the blade smoking slightly around its sharp edges. Rhea, Frankie and Tank were staring at the body on the floor, a thin trail of blood snaking from the bottom of the skull and running down over the floorboards, soaking through the cracks. Ethan, Nate and Jack were staring at Miriana holding the knife in one quivering hand, with shocked, and in Ethan's case, possibly quite admiring faces. Frankie edged forwards and nudged the body with the toe of his heavy work boots.

"I guess it works," said Rhea in a quiet voice.

"Yeah," agreed Miriana, wiping the streak of blood from the knife onto her jeans, "I guess it does."

The other hunters decided they didn't want to return to their grubby motel rooms, and considering as how Miriana had several spare bedrooms and rather a lot of sofas, she asked them to stay for the night. It was an unseasonably warm evening, so they ended up sitting outside on her aunt's antique, slightly battered garden furniture with a case of beer, the circle of her aunt's garden that overlooked the lake lit with gently flickering candles that she had dug out of the garage. Miriana couldn't remember a time she had been so sociable.

She had taken the knife to her aunt's safe in the study as soon as she had stepped through the door, determined not to let fall back into the demons hands. Of course at some point she would have to breach the difficult topic of who got to keep the knife. After all, the others had helped her to get it, as much as she wished she keep it entirely for herself. She would feel far safer with that thing on her person.

Tank, Jack, Nate and Frankie were having an animated and highly intellectual conversation about whether or not Batman could take down Spiderman in a fight whilst Rhea looked on, leaning against Frankie's chest, an amused expression on her face. Miriana quietly extricated herself from the rowdy table and collected the empty beer bottles scattered across the table and paving stones. She headed around the side of the house to where the bins stood on the opposite side of the garden and deposited the bottles in the glass bin. As she turned around to return to the others, she walked straight into a very solid figure behind her. She shrieked loudly and Ethan winced, holding up his hands.

"Sorry," he said, "Didn't mean to give you heart failure."

She waved a hand airily, "Don't worry. I'm always doing that. I don't have very good spacial awareness."

He held up a few more bottles, "I'd thought I'd just give you a hand."

"Oh, thank you very much," she said, flashing him a quick smile. Ethan gave a little chuckle.

"What?"

"I love your accent," he said, lifting up his armful of bottles and depositing them into the bin, "British accents always sound so polite. You could be telling me to eff off and you'd still sound polite. It's kind of sexy too."

She could tell from his face that he instantly regretted what he had said; again his cheeks flushed a deep shade of red, vivid enough to match the roses growing on the trellis up the white wall of the house.

"Oh God, I didn't mean that you' re sexy- I mean, of course you're very attractive- but I don't think about you in that way- I just-"

She held up a hand to cut off his panicked rambling, "Don't worry. I know what you meant."

"Phew, I thought I'd really offended you then," he said, following back around the side of the house towards the garden that overlooked the lake.

"No, you've just mortally embarrassed me and yourself," she joked. As she rounded the corner of the house, she tripped over a beer bottle that had rolled out from underneath the table. She braced herself for the impact of the cold hard paving stones, put Ethan wrapped an arm around her waist, supporting her.

"Easy there," he said, his hand lingering along the curve of the waist, "You okay?"

"Yeah," Miriana said, forcefully but subtly moving herself out of the circle of his arm around her waist, "Like I said, no spacial awareness.

They rejoined the loud table, which hadn't seemed to have noticed their absence. Miriana glanced across at the lake, watching the dying rays of the dusky orange sun play across the smooth silvery expanse of the lake. She loved these kinds of afternoons; balmy and peaceful.

She noticed out of the corner of her eye that Ethan was staring at her; she turned to look at him.

"What?" she asked, feeling slightly apprehensive for reasons she couldn't fathom.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course," she said hesitantly.

"That demon back there," he began, tracing a pattern across the glass of his beer bottle, "It said that Reuben has a thing for you."

He paused, and Miriana prompted, "Yes?"

"It's just...why? You didn't have a fling with a demon did you?"

Miriana snorted. No, she was having a fling with a being from the complete other end of the spectrum that was considerably more holy. Not that she was about to disclose that to a person she barely knew.

"No. Definitely not. Rueben was the demon that killed my parents and Cristian."

Ethan's face visibly paled, "Oh crap, I'm so sorry, I-"

"Don't worry about it," she said, cutting him off midway through his apology, "You weren't to know."

He took a swig of beer, "So he's still determined to finish off your family, huh?"

Miriana heaved a sigh and nodded, "Yep. Pretty much."

"That sucks. I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, too," I heard what that demon said back there," she saw his broad shoulders instantly tense, "About your mum."

He took another, much longer swig, almost draining the bottle in one go , "Yeah. It was pretty rough."

Miriana decided to push him a little further. She found she liked the sound of his voice, enjoyed talking with him, even though they were discussing such difficult topics, "What happened? If you don't mind me asking?"

"No, of course not," he said, "I mean, I've been nosey enough. It was a few years ago now. I had a date with this chick. She was gorgeous, you know, really classy. I was ecstatic. You have to understand, I've been raised as a hunter since I was in diapers. I never got a break from it, and I just wanted a little slice of normal, you know? And I knew, I knew that there were omens springing up all over town, but I just ignored them, ignored the fact that mom was a lot more fragile than she used to be."

He paused, looking down at the chipped wooden surface of the table, his green eyes dark, "There was no chance she could have fought them off, especially not in her state. She'd had cancer, see. It made her weak. Even if she was healthy, they'd still have ripped her apart."

He winced, as if the memory pained him, "Anyway, I get this hysterical phone call from Jack about three in the morning, and I come home, and she's everywhere. All over the floor, the walls, the sofa. She didn't even look like a person when they'd finished with her."

Miriana placed a comforting hand on his arm, feeling the muscles tense under her fingers, "I'm so so sorry," she murmured. She couldn't imagine the pain he must have gone through, coming home to find that.

He gave a small smile, "Thanks. I guess every hunter gets hurt in some way, huh? Although usually it's the ones around us."

"Well, if it's any consolation, your mum would be very proud of you, I'm sure," she said, cringing at her weak attempt to comfort him.

A very strange look came across his face, and when he spoke, his voice sounded oddly strained, "No one has ever said that to me before. Thank you."

Miriana flushed furiously, "You're welcome."

They lapsed back into a comfortable silence, the both of them watching the conversation, which had now moved on to iron man versus wolverine from the X-men.

"No, dude," Tank said, slamming a fist onto the table in front of Frankie, "Iron man has the suit, what the hell does Wolverine have, some pansy toothpicks in his fists!? Come on, that sucks!"

Miriana sighed heavily, rolling her eyes, "I think I need to go to bed before this develops into a fist fight."

"Yeah, I don't blame you," Ethan muttered darkly, "I have to deal with them all the time."

"Good night," she called to the others at the table, rising to her feet. Rhea and Nate replied, and Ethan flashed her yet another perfect, made for Hollywood smile, but the others were still too wrapped up in their discussion to notice she'd gone.

She crossed the garden and slid the patio doors open, stepping into the kitchen. She headed for the stairs, but she stopped in the middle of the spacious hall. She glanced towards the half open door of the study, golden liquid light spilling through the gap and onto the carpet. She had the sudden urge to check the knife was still in the iron safe. She trusted the other hunters not to take it, but she knew that a demon like Reuben could quite easily steal it. She pushed open the door of the study and breathed in the smell of books with old, wrinkled pages and leather bound spines. She slid back the wooden compartment that contained the safe, twisting the small black dial until she heard the click as the lock mechanism disengaged. With a loud, protesting groan, the heavy grey metal door swung open, revealing the dark space inside. There were a few other things that stayed in the safe, including Miriana's father's gun that her Aunt kept safe and never used. There was also a piece of Miriana's mother's jewellery, an antique silver charm bracelet designed for her mother when she started hunting on her eighteenth birthday, ensconced in a scarlet leather case. It was the one thing Miriana had always wanted, and it was the one thing her aunt had never let her have.

She reached into the shadows and pulled the knife out by its smooth wooden handle, the smoky sliver blade catching the last rays of the sun that were reaching across the horizon and streaming through the tall windows. She turned the blade over carefully, running her fingertip lightly along the jagged edge, careful not to nick her thumb on its razor sharp edge. She traced her fingernail along the lines of the tiny pentagram etched into the handle. She sighed heavily, bringing the blade closer and scrutinizing it. She couldn't deny the similarity between the blade she was holding so carefully in her hands, and the one she often saw in the hands of Sam and Dean. But it just seemed too good to be true that her aunt had stumbled across such a perfect demon killing weapon. She had learned in the world of hunting, that coincidences were all too often more than just simple coincidences. Just as she was about to replace the knife in the safe, and hand fell on her shoulder and she opened her mouth to scream.

The second that Castiel had learned Miriana was facing demons from Embriel, he immediately abandoned his duty of tracking a coven of demons across Georgia and went to her, despite Embriels' protestations that Zachariah would notice and come for him. As soon as he reached the dilapidated house Reuben's coven of demons had been occupying, he realized it was a wasted trip. The fire from the pyre of bodies was already beginning to fade away to dull glowing embers and the hunters were already halfway back to Miriana's house. He followed them back, surprised at the number of people she had with her. He watched as the heavy red truck pulled up on the white gravel, followed by a motorcycle and behind that, Miriana's sleek black car. He stayed a good distance away from the house in a thick copse of trees at the end of the lane that led to Miriana's drive, despite the overwhelming urge to go to her. He restrained himself though; he didn't think that announcing himself to a group of hunters as Miriana's angel friend was a very good idea. He didn't know much about human behaviour or social situations, but he knew that much. When they climbed out of their various vehicles, he felt his borrowed heart give an odd stutter in his chest. For the briefest of seconds, he thought Cristian had been raised from the dead and was standing next to Miriana, far too close for his liking. But when he regarded him in more detail, he saw he wasn't quite the doppelganger for Miriana's dead lover as he'd thought. His skin wasn't as pale, more golden, and his hair was several shades lighter and was longer and shaggier than Cristians' had been. But there was still something of him in the line of his broad shoulders and in his wide smile and high cheekbones.

They stayed talking in the garden for a frustratingly long time. He never took his eyes of Miriana, absolutely entranced by the way the last terracotta rays of the sun light up her pale skin and picked out the strands of red and chestnut in her hair. The other hunters were engaged in an animated conversation, but he noticed that Miriana spoke very little, just sat and watched with a slight smile on her face. He noticed that the dark haired man that had been riding the motorbike was subtly moving his chair closer and closer to Miriana's throughout the evening, until their arms were almost touching, as if she were a magnet, pulling him towards her. He watched as Miriana gathered an armful of beer bottles to her chest and moved around the back of the house towards the bins. He was so frustrated at having to wait for her that he had seriously considered calmly walking into the garden and knocking the group of hunters unconscious and dragging her away, but it seemed now he had a chance to speak to her alone, finally get her back in his arms. It had been less than a day since he had last seen her, but it felt like a painfully long time. Just as he was about to follow her, he noticed Ethan smoothly loping across the drive behind her. He felt an odd flare of white hot heat in his chest when he saw him steady her as she tripped, his hand lingering for an inappropriately long time along the curve of her waist, pressing his tall lean body against hers. He had the sudden unexpected urge to punch a hole through his chest, immediately feeling guilty. He couldn't understand why he was thinking such things or why he wanted to keep Miriana for himself, like she was his possession.

Finally, after what seemed like hours and hours, she left the table, heading for the house. He followed her into the house, breathing in the smell of roses in the cut glass vase by the front door. He found her in the study, her back to the door, turning a short, vicious blade over in his hands. He glided noiselessly across the carpet to stand behind her, his hand dropping to rest against the curve of her shoulder. He hadn't expected her to scream and he winced when she let out a shout before he managed to spin her around and place a finger against her lips.

"Oh my God," she gasped breathlessly, "What have I told you about doing that ninja thing?"

He was entirely sure what a ninja was, but he apologized anyway, "I'm sorry. It was not my intention to frighten you."

She rubbed her forehead, "I know."

He had only noticed up close that there was a dark, blackened bruise across her cheekbone, marring the pale, smooth skin.

"What happened?" He asked, cupping her face carefully and brushing his thumb as lightly as possible across the blue black shadow.

"Its' nothing," she said firmly, pulling his hands away from her face, "Really. It was just a demon that managed to get a punch in before I could stop him."

He frowned, but Miriana placed a hand flat on his chest, "It's nothing, honestly."

"What were you looking at?" he asked.

"Oh it's just...nothing," she said, waving a hand airily.

He could tell from her tone that she was lying, "What is it?"

She turned away from him, reaching into the darkness of the safe and retrieving the knife he had seen in her hands a few seconds ago, holding it up for him to see. He recognized it as similar to the blade Dean had plunged into his chest in the vain attempt to kill him the first time they had met.

"The demons had it," she explained, "Is it real?"

He could feel sparks of power humming around the blade, brushing against the skin of his hand like electricity.

"I would say so," he said, passing the knife back to her.

She sighed heavily and stowed it back inside the safe, shutting and locking it, "Enough of that now."

She turned back to him, "Can you stay tonight?"

He hesitated for a long second before he answered. He knew perfectly well that he shouldn't be here; he should be back in Georgia hunting down and destroying that coven of demons it had apparently been so important to Zachariah that he catch. But right at that moment, he didn't care. He was breaking so many rules, so he might as well let the chips fall where they may.

"Yes, of course," he said, keeping his voice tone as even as possible.

He thought she noticed his indecision, saw the spark of worry and a tinge of fear flare up in the dark depths of her eyes, but she soon covered it over with a smile.

"Good," she pulled on his hand and led him into the hall and up the stairs. He studied the photographs lining the halls, and stopped halfway up the stairs, gently pulling his hand free of hers, one picture in a gilded bronze frame catching his eye. He thought for a second that it was Miriana, but on further inspection he saw that the woman had longer hair than Miriana, and it curled around her shoulders in thick dark waves, her face was rounder, less angular, and she was obviously older from the faint web of lines around her mouth and eyes, but the resemblance between the two was striking.

She stopped a few steps above him, frowning, "What?"

He nodded at the picture, "Is this your mother?"

She sighed, "Yeah, why?"

"You look so much like her."

She rolled her eyes and tugged on his arm again, "Come on."

He followed her to her room, breathing in the perfume that hung over everything in the room as she flipped the lights on, casting the room in a warm amber glow. She steered him over to her bed and pushed his shoulder so he sat down. He would never have thought that any human could order him around so easily; he was a soldier of God after all, but Miriana had more of a hold over him than any angel.

"Stay here," she said, drawing the long, gauzy curtains across the tall windows, "I'm just going to get changed."

She swept into the bathroom and shut the door behind her, leaving him to sit on the end of her bed, waiting patiently. He tried very hard to ignore the soft sound of her clothes falling against the tiles and the mental images that came flooding in. He wasn't entirely sure where they were coming from, but they were very persistent; he started reciting sections of the bible in enochian to distract himself.

He started when the door opened and she stepped out, dressed in the usual tattered t-shirt and baggy pants that she slept in. She stretched her arms above her head, yawning, and her t-shirt rode up a little, revealing her hard hipbones. He hadn't intended to look, but he suddenly saw the angry looking bruises staining the supple, pale skin across her stomach, matching the discolouration on her cheekbones. Catching the hem of her t-shirt so it didn't cover up the bruises, he reached out and grazed his fingertips against the battered skin, feeling sick when she winced and he felt her muscles tense as hard as iron under his hand.

"Don't worry," she said, attempting a smile, "It doesn't hurt that much."

"Who did this?" he asked, trying hard to reign in the fury in his voice.

"I told you, that demon. Please, don't worry."

He gently brushed his fingers back and forth across her bruises, soothing the abused skin, "I hate seeing you in pain."

She closed her eyes, revelling in the soft feeling of his fingers against her skin, "I've had worse."

"I know you have," he said, sounding frustrated, "That's what worries me."

She noticed that the sensation had passed by comforting and had headed into something different, something that made heat flash up her spine. He seemed to have felt it too; she could swear she could feel the temperature of her room climb up a few degrees.

She sank onto the bed next to him, and he leaned down and gently took her lips, his fingers still splayed against her stomach, moving up a little higher until they rested just underneath her ribcage. Her fingers knotted in his hair, teasing through the short strands and he parted her lips, kissing her almost roughly. She moved across him, straddling his legs, surprised at her own boldness. His breathing rate ratcheted up, as did hers, and something was warning her to stop, before this went too far. But as always, she completely ignored it. He kissed her mouth and trailed a line of kisses as light as the brush of a butterflies wing down to her jaw, turning his face into the smooth curve where her neck met her shoulder, whispering her name against her fragrant skin. She pulled away, struggling to pull his trench coat and suit jacket off his shoulders. Throwing his jacket behind her, she moved to his tie next, loosening it, her fingers sliding over the silky sapphire material. The shared heat between them was unbearable; the hands that rested against her hips felt feverish. She would be quite happy to drown in this feeling. Like he had, she kissed the sharp line of his jaw, his stubble scraping pleasantly against her cheek.

"Miriana..." he said, quietly, his voice oddly strangled. She ignored him, moving her lips back to his and catching his bottom lip with her teeth, her hands fumbling to undo the buttons of his shirt. Her pulse was pounding so hard it was painful. His fingers were clenched on the bed sheets and he pulled his lips away from hers, gasping a breath into his lungs.

The next thing she knew, she was pushed to the side of the bed, the warmth of his skin torn away from hers. He was stood up, leaning against the wall that faced her bed, his eyes wide and terrified, his cheeks flushed a furious shade of red. She instantly realized she'd frightened him off again.

"I...I can't," he stuttered, "It's too much."

She knew her knees up to her chest, resting her forehead against them, "I'm sorry," she said, her voice muffled, "I'm so so sorry."

"It's alright," he said, his voice considerably calmer than a few seconds ago.

"No, no it isn't," she said, fighting the tears of embarrassment and humiliation, "Why do I always do that?"

"Do what?" he asked, sounding genuinely curious.

"Frighten you off," she mumbled, "Dean was right, I am like a drunken hooker."

He frowned, "What's a hooker?"

"Maybe you should just go," she said, ignoring his question.

She was surprised to find he sounded genuinely hurt, "I don't want to leave."

"Yeah, well you should, before I throw myself all over you again," she let out a frustrated groan, throwing her arms over her head, "Why am I so pathetic?"

He approached the bed almost nervously, as if he expected her to suddenly implode at any second. Perching carefully hear the end of her bed, he tugged at her arms until she looked at him.

"You're not pathetic, Miriana," he said softly, "Far from it."

She said nothing, just ducked her head again. He slid two fingers under her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"You're not pathetic," he said again, "I wish I could...be with you, but it's...overwhelming for me when you're so close."

"Right," she muttered.

He kissed her forehead, "I don't want you to be uncomfortable around me."

She wanted to tell him that she was always uncomfortable around him with the tension that smouldered between them, but she bit her lip.

"I need to sleep now," she said quietly, "You don't have to stay."

"I want to," he said, brushing a strand of hair away from her forehead.

He lay down next to her, far more calm than last time, and lifted his arms so she could slide underneath them, trailing his fingers from her shoulder blade to her spine.

"Are the other hunters staying here tonight?" he asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

"Yeah," she replied, "I offered. Their motel rooms were pretty disgusting, especially Ethans."

He wondered if this Ethan was the one that had been lingering around all night, the thought of it sending a slight flash of anger searing across his chest, "Who's Ethan?"

"Err...the really tall, dark haired guy."

"Is he a friend?" he asked, as casually as possible.

She raised her head off his chest and gave him a curious look, "Are you jealous?"

"I'm not really sure," he said, "What does jealousy feel like?"

She rested her head against his chest again, "Never mind," she murmured.

He felt her breathing start to slow as she began to drift off next to him, cuddling herself closer to him. It wasn't more than half an hour later when he heard the rushing of wings in the corner of the room, and Embriel appeared, her eyes ambivalent.

"Embriel," he muttered lazily, not even bothering to get up. He was too warm and comfortable.

"Castiel," she choked out. He could tell instantly from the tone of her voice that something was terribly wrong. There was the glossy sheen of tears in her eyes. Carefully disentangling Miriana's sleeping form from his body he stood, meeting Embriel's panicked eyes.

"What?" he questioned apprehensively, feeling dread coiling like a snake in the pit of his stomach.

"It Zachariah, Castiel," she breathed, "He knows everything."

_Enjoy the romance, 'cos its all going to come crashing down soon..._

_A little note to captain oblivious- thanks for the Miriana/Cas choice of song, I love it :)_


	55. One Foot Wrong

_Another long chapter, I hope you enjoy it :) Thanks as always to everyone that's left a review or favourite, big hugs to you all! And OMG superntural finale this week :/ I'm worried for Sam. Anyhoo, hope you enjoy! :)_

Embriel threw his suit jacket, trench coat and tie at him from where they lay crumpled on the floor beside Miriana's bed.

"Put these on," she commanded. He shrugged on the jacket and coat, clumsily retying his tie like he had seen Miriana do. Embriel swept over to the bed and touched two slender fingers to Miriana's forehead.

"What are you doing?" he asked, buttoning his shirt and straightening his tie.

"Shielding her," Embriel replied, "For now, at least."

"How does he know?"

"He's been having you followed; someone else in the garrison," she explained, "Abandoning your duties today was the tipping point. They already mistrusted you before that; they think you've done too much for the Winchesters. Why didn't you listen to me, Castiel? I told you Zachariah would be furious if you left your duties for her again."

"I know," he said through gritted teeth.

"Why did you do it?" she asked almost desperately.

"Because...because I can't be away from her," he said, trying to find a way to explain how he felt. Easier said than done, when he didn't really understand what he was feeling himself.

"You have to be," she snapped, "It's that or they kill her."

His heart seemed to turn to ice in his chest and sink down somewhere close to the bottom of his stomach, "He wouldn't kill her."

Embriel smiled sadly, "Oh, yes he would. I would know."

Castiel frowned, "What do you mean, you would know?"

The ancient sadness in her eyes faded, "We don't have time. Go to him, it will look better, and besides, we can't risk him finding her."

He glanced across at her sleeping body, blissfully unaware of what was happening and the danger she faced.

"Do they know its Miriana?"

Embriel nodded curtly, "Yes. They know her name."

Embriel reached into the deep pockets of her cardigan and shoved two small brown, hessian bags at him.

"Put this under her pillow, and the other in her jacket," she told him, "They should keep her hidden from Zachariah and the others, at least until I can find a more permanent solution."

He walked over to her bed and brushed his lips against her forehead, feeling the shake in his hands as he brushed the hair away from her face and followed the curve of her neck and shoulders with his fingertips. He gently lifted the pillow and pushed the hex bag underneath it.

"Please be safe," he whispered into her ear. He reached across and slid the other hex bag inside her jacket, which lay across the end of her bed. He stood up and faced Embriel, trying to ignore the unusual sensation of fear that was choking him.

"Where is he?"

"Chicago, Illinois."

He took one last, long lingering look at Miriana, drinking her in with his eyes, well aware this could possibly be the last time he would see her. Something in his head told him to wake her up and tell her how he really felt. That he didn't know what love felt like, but that he was almost sure he was in love with her, and had been virtually from the day he had seen her from heaven. But he found he couldn't speak; his throat was tight and constricted with fear.

He spread his wings and in the space of a heartbeat, he had found Zachariah, sat in the executive lounge of an eight hundred dollar a night hotel on the top floor, overlooking the spider's web of lights that was the city underneath. He would have appreciated the view if he wasn't so terrified. Zachariah was seated in a wide leather armchair that reflected the flickering orange light from the fire, his legs crossed, black suit and silver tie immaculate as always. Two angels flanked him; both dressed identically in crisp black suits and white shirts, their faces completely expressionless. He could tell just from a quick glance at them that both carried long silver blades like the one Uriel had used in their pockets. He guessed trying for an escape was not a good idea.

Zachariah observed him with his cold, glacial blue eyes, whilst Castiel inclined his head towards his superior, "Zachariah sir." He kept his hands shoved firmly in the pockets of his trench coat, determined not to let them see the shake in his hands.

"Castiel," he said, his voice cold, "You're in some serious trouble boy."

Miriana came round from sleep slowly in the morning, reaching out with fingers clumsy from sleep for the warm body next to her. But her searching hands found nothing, just cool, empty sheets.

"Castiel?" she enquired of thin air, sitting up and looking around the room. He'd left.

She tried not to feel hurt by it; she was certain there was a good reason for it. Maybe his superiors had called him back, and this time he had been unable to ignore their summons. They sounded pretty persuasive from what she could gather. She stretched her back and neck, getting up slowly from the bed and stumbling towards the shower. She stepped under the boiling hot spray as soon as it was hot enough for her and scrubbed shampoo through the knots in her dark hair, mussed from sleep.

There was the slightest sense of anxiety and dread settling in her stomach, for reasons she couldn't fathom. She didn't think he was in any danger, but her instincts were telling her something was amiss, despite the fact the more rational side of her brain argued that she was being stupid, and far too needy. She dressed and applied her usual eyeliner, keeping her mind firmly trained away from anything angel related.

She made her bed, and it was only when she flipped the sheets to air them that she caught the smell of him, sunshine and cologne, all over her sheets. She lifted them to her nose, breathing him in deeply and closing her eyes, as if she could conjure him up behind her. As she pulled the sheets a little tighter to her nose, she noticed something roll out from underneath her pillow, thumping to the floor. She reached down and picked it up, frowning. It was a hex bag. She couldn't imagine who could have put it there or why; except for Castiel. Realization hit her like a freight train. He'd disappeared and left her with a hex bag and no explanation. There was trouble with someone, somewhere. She glanced at her leather jacket and saw the bulge in the inside pocket. Shoving her hands inside, she found yet another hex bag. She clutched it in her trembling hands, starting when there came a knock at the door.

She stuffed the hex bag back under her pillow and went to the door, throwing it open to find Ethan stood behind it, dressed in his biker jacket.

"Hey," he said brightly, "We're off."

"Oh."

The smile faded from his face a little, "Are you okay?"

She blinked rapidly, trying to clear her head and bring herself back to reality, "Yes. Sorry, I-uh...I didn't sleep very well last night. I'll come down and say goodbye."

The dazzling smile returned to his face as she grabbed her jacket and followed him down the wide staircase to the front door, keeping the smile plastered to her face.

The other hunters were gathered outside on the gravel drive, leaning against the battered Chevy truck. Jack waved at Miriana and gave a goofy smile, which instantly fell from his face the second Frankie slapped him around the back of the head.

Rhea stepped forwards and gave Miriana a hug, "Thank you so much for letting us stay. I could sleep last night without the fear of getting bitten by bed bugs the size of rats."

Miriana grimaced, "No worries."

The other hunters said their goodbyes and clambered into the truck, which burst into life with a choking cloud of fumes and a deafening roar. Ethan was the only one that hung back, lingering by his Harley.

"I guess I'll see you around then," he said, swinging his leg over the motorbike.

She caught his arm, "About the knife, if you guys want-"

He cut her off with a wave of his hand, "It's yours fair and square. It was in your dad's pickup after all. So, no worries ok?"

"Thank you."

He tipped her a wink, which made her cheeks burn, then jammed his helmet onto his head and kicked the engine into life. Miriana stood next to Nate and waved the group of hunters off, watching as they pulled out of the drive and disappeared down the long winding road that led back to the highway.

Nate nudged her in the ribs, "You okay? You look a little uptight."

Miriana nodded and flashed him as genuine a smile as she could manage, "I'm fine. I just need to go upstairs for something."

"I'm picking up Aunty in a minute," he said, reaching into his pocket for his car keys, "The hospital rang before, they said she could come home."

"Right," she called over her shoulder. She was very aware of Nate's eyes burning a hole into her back as she swept towards the house, sprinting up the staircase as soon as she was out of sight.

Banging the door of her room against the wall, she dug under her pillow for the hex bag, ripping off the cord that held it together and spilling the contents onto the bed sheets. She had considerable knowledge regarding hex bags; maybe if she could look at the contents she could work out what she was being shielded from. But as she sifted through the contents, she found there were no sprigs of devils bane and cats bones to shield from demons; in fact there was nothing she recognized, even from her studies of arcane lore. Whatever this was, it was shielding against something heavy duty, and whoever had put it together was skilled. It must have been Castiel, she reasoned. But what worried here more than anything was his whereabouts. She wasn't that worried about what was after her; she was more worried about the fact he had left without waking her up to say goodbye. And he hadn't reappeared yet.

"Castiel?" she called quietly. This was the only equivalent she had of ringing him on a mobile. Otherwise she had absolutely no idea about how to contact him.

She tried a few more times, but there was no reply. What was so bad that he couldn't get to her?

She reached for her phone, fully intending to ring Dean. She stopped herself before she pressed the dial button. He wouldn't be interested, and even if she could get to him to listen, he would be pissed when he realized she was still hounding after Cas like a 'drunken hooker', as he had so eloquently put it. Cursing, she dropped the phone back onto the bed. Pacing back and forth across her room, she racked her brains to think of what could have happened to him. She knew perfectly well that most normal people would not get as panicked as she was, but then most normal people weren't romantically involved with an angel who was defying heavens orders to be with her, who then disappeared in the middle of the night, leaving her with no reason and a powerful charm for protection. It seemed more natural to worry under those circumstances.

Trying to be more productive, she gathered up the contents of the hex bag and carried them carefully down to the study, laying them out on the heavy oak table in the middle of the room. A glance out of the window told her Nate had set off for the hospital, so there was no threat of intrusion and awkward questions. She dragged a stool out from underneath the table and climbed onto it, stretching up on her tiptoes to reach the highest row of books, running her fingers along the leather bound spines. She found the book on warding and protection and yanked it free from the bookcase, almost falling flat on her back. Slamming it down onto the table, she rifled quickly through the pages, not entirely sure what she was looking for. Tears of frustration began to collect behind her eyes, but she blinked them back quickly; there was no time for tears and moping around the house like a child.

There was nothing in the first book, so she pulled down dusty tome after tome after tome, flicking through endless yellowed, fragile pages that held no form of help whatsoever. She was beginning to lose hope, or perhaps turn to the internet, when a fluidly curling symbol in the middle of one of the pages caught her eyes. She turned back to it, tracing over the pattern with her fingers. She pulled the rough piece of hessian towards her, following the same pattern over the textured cloth, painted on in thick black paint. Feeling considerably more optimistic, she scanned her eyes over the page, squinting at the faded print. With every word she read, she felt her stomach drop a little lower and the fear lodged tight in her chest got a little more choking.

"Angels," she whispered. She was being shielded from angels.

As it turned out, Zachariah decided to hold Castiel in a room next to the executive suite, at least temporarily. The two angels that had been flanking Zachariah had been joined by four others, four of them flanking the door from the outside, the other two stood against the wall of the room, ensuring he couldn't make one movement without being seen. He couldn't understand why Zachariah hadn't just dealt with him already, why he had left him in his temporary prison and hadn't dragged him off to the garrisons' prison yet. His fate seemed inevitable; there was no point in delaying it.

The angels beside the door, again dressed identically in black suits, hadn't moved at all since they had marched him into the room and forced him to sit in the nearest chair. They kept their cold eyes trained somewhere above his head, their arms firmly folded across their chests. There was no chance of escape; he was quick, but he knew they would be far quicker. And there was nowhere he could run without being followed by Zachariah. He was persistent, if nothing else.

He prayed for Miriana, prayed that the hex bag would work; he had a strong feeling that Zachariah was searching for her whilst he waited, trapped in the room. Zachariah was known for being creative, and he couldn't think about what tortuous punishment he would enact upon her if he found her. He worried that if he couldn't find her, he would go for her family, and he knew what she would do if that happened. She would offer up her own life in exchange, she had done it once before. At least that time he had been there to save her life. Now he was pinned down, waiting useless and unable to help himself or Miriana. What must she have thought when she had woken up alone? How furious would she be, how hurt? He hadn't even had the chance to speak to her, or explain. Even if he could break free from heavens' guard, he still wouldn't be able to find her; the hex bags Embriel had given her would shield her from the eyes of all angels, friendly or otherwise. It was a discomforting feeling.

At that moment the door banged backwards, slamming against the wall and Zachariah swept in, straightening his tie.

"Well, Castiel," he began, pulling a leather chair across the cream carpet and sitting in it, "I don't know what you've done, but we can't find your woman."

He had a thousand retorts in his head, but he bit his tongue. It wouldn't help to put himself in more trouble.

"But we will," Zachariah continued, "Don't you worry about that."

"Please leave her out of this," he said, meeting his superior right in his cold eyes, "Please. I'll do anything."

Zachariah gave a cold smirk, "Anything?"

He nodded.

"Hmm," he said, regarding him with a spark of interest in his eyes, "Anything. Well, that whore of yours really must be something, huh?"

That slur made him feel sick with fury, "She's not a whore."

"She must be, I can't imagine what else would make a soldier as strong as you turn your back on your brothers and sisters," his voice rose in volume, "You're no better than a human. Just as weak and pathetic as them."

"Why do you speak of them in such a way?" he asked, exasperated, "They're wonderful creations. Most of them are better than us."

Zachariah shook his head, looking disgusted, "What has she done to you?"

"She hasn't done anything to me," he replied, raising his chin, "Everything I did I did through my own choices. So leave her alone."

A steely glint of fury flashed in Zachariah's eyes, "Don't order me, boy."

"Please, Zachariah," he implored, "I follow my orders, I'll save any seal you-"

He stopped when Zachariah let out a cold chuckle. Even the stony faced angels behind him smirked a little. He couldn't help feeling there was something he was missing.

"What?"

"We've really kept you in the dark about them, to be honest," Zachariah said, brushing invisible dirt off his suit trousers, "But you know, you just weren't that important. Still aren't, really. We assigned you to save Dean Winchester, but after that, we weren't too concerned about you and the rest of your garrison's safety. It just so happened that you fell into the role, but we had plenty of angels lined up for the job. They probably would have done it better to be honest."

"What about the seals?" he asked, ignoring the burn of anger and hurt that flashed through him after Zachariah's revelation.

"I may as well tell you," Zachariah sighed, "You could be useful. We never wanted to stop the seals, Castiel. If we had, do you really think Michael and the others would just have let them break all over the place? You know yourself that there's only fifteen left."

"I don't follow," he said. He had the feeling he wouldn't want to know the answer.

"We need the devil to rise," Zachariah said, slamming his fist against the leather, "Think about it. He rises, and we fight him and cleanse this earth of all the filth of humanity. Burn the earth clean, purify it. Then we start all over again."

"Why?" he asked. His brain didn't seem to be able to process what he had just been told. It was too much.

"Why?" Zachariah said in a surprised tone, "Why do you think? We deserve this earth, not the demons, and especially not the humans."

"But...what about all the people?"

Zachariah snorted, "What about them?"

"If we fight Satan, they'll all be killed," he said, his hands shaking inside his pockets, "They'll all burn in the fight."

Zachariah shrugged, "Not all of them. And those that do survive will be left to enjoy the paradise that we have created. Not that bad of a deal if you ask me."

He opened his mouth to protest, but Zachariah cut across him, "Come on, Castiel, think about it. Don't you want a perfect world, a world where you can live in harmony with your brothers and sisters? No demons, no Lucifer. We can end this fight once and for all."

Although he didn't want to admit it to Zachariah, the idea did sound tempting. He was tired of fighting, tired of the constant war. This paradise that Zachariah described was more than a little appealing. He imagined a peaceful life with Miriana, but the thought of her shattered the perfect illusion in his head. If Zachariah did manage to enact his plan, there would be a fight of monumental proportions, a conflict that would burn half the world to ashes, and Miriana would most likely be caught in the celestial cross fires, just another insignificant part of collateral damage. He couldn't imagine Zachariah would let her live when he believed that she had tainted one of his soldiers. Even if she did manage to survive, she wouldn't want to be a part of this paradise Zachariah was selling, not if it meant the destruction of the human race and all that she knew of her home. Who was he fooling? She wouldn't want to spend her lifetime with him. Truthfully, he wasn't even sure why she spent time with him now, why she seemed so attracted to him. He wasn't well matched for her, and he knew it.

"You can't let this happen," he said, but Zachariah merely smirked in response.

"Not much we can do about it now," he said, almost smugly, "The ball is rolling. The end is nigh."

Dean. Miriana. He had to get to one of them and tell them, somehow.

At that moment, the door opened and one of the cold, expressionless angels that had been guarding the room swept over to Zachariah and whispered something in his ear.

Zachariah stood with a heavy sigh, "Well Castiel, it seems I am needed. Busy, busy, busy- I really need a holiday."

He followed the angel to the door, "Wait here. I'll decide how you will be punished when I return."

He left, slamming the door behind him. He calculated that if he moved fast enough, he could destroy the sigil that was keeping him pinned in the room and escape. He wasn't strong enough to fight them off, but he could be fast enough. What he would do after that was another question. He didn't really think he could stay hidden from Zachariah forever.

In a fast as movement as possible, he threw himself from the chair and swiped his fingers through the intricate pattern that was painted across the back of the door. He felt the restrictive forces that hold been holding him snap like an elastic band that had been pulled too tight. Before the other angels could even register the breaking of the sigil, he spread his wings and set off the farthest, most isolated corner of the world he could find.

It had been a few hours since she had discovered the hex bag, but it felt like days. She sat in the window seat in the lounge, staring out at the darkened garden, scrutinizing very shrub, flower and tree as if it might hold answers as to where he was and why he had left. Nate had called and told her he was taking Eve into town for shopping and wouldn't be back for a few hours, so she had the cavernous house all to herself, to pace up restlessly up and down the rooms. She drummed a tattoo on the wooden window sill, jittering nervously. She knew she wouldn't sleep tonight. Not without his arms around her.

Discovering that he was shielding her from angels was the worst thing she could have thought. Had it been demons, she might feel a little better; he would be more likely protecting her whilst he went and fought. But the fact that he was shielding her from angels no doubt meant he was hiding her from his superiors while they punished him for their relationship. She couldn't help but think it was all her fault; if she hadn't thrown herself at him quite so persistently, he probably wouldn't be in this situation. Honestly, she didn't think she could have stopped herself even if she had really tried. He was like a magnet to her, the attraction was impossible to resist. Maybe if she was stronger she could have stopped all this. She had scoured very book she could possibly think of for ways to help him, but everything she read only fuelled her fear and desperation. It was only after reading the lore books that she realized quite how terrifyingly powerful the angels were. It gave her a whole new perspective on Castiel, one that scared her a little.

She heard the car door slam and the sound of footsteps heading up to the door, followed by her aunt calling her name. They had been gone for a long time; it was almost completely dark.

"Hello sweetie," her aunt said from the doorway, "How are you-"

She stopped dead, frowning, "What is it?"

Miriana was very aware that the tears of frustration and anxiety that she had been fighting all day were bubbling up behind her eyes.

"It's Castiel," she whispered, "I think-I think he's in trouble."

Her aunt said nothing, but swept towards the window and sat down next to her on the window seat, pulling her into a hug.

"I wondered how long it would be before you'd end up with him," her aunt said, stroking Miriana's hair, "I could tell how you felt from the first time you spoke about him."

"He's hiding me from angels," Miriana said, her voice thick with tears, "That means they're after him. And I can't help him; I can't fight angels."

"I know sweetheart," Eve soothed.

"What do I do?" she asked desperately.

"You need some sleep," Eve said, cutting off Miriana's protestations, "You need rest." She followed Miriana up the stairs, calming her raw nerves and promising to look through the lore books again, just in case. With a sudden pang of guilt, Miriana realized she hadn't asked how her aunt was doing; she had just been discharged from hospital after all.

"I'm fine," she assured, pushing Miriana towards the bed, "Now sleep. You never know, things might improve in the morning."

She tried to believe what her aunt was saying, tried to let herself be comforted, but it wasn't easy to ignore the unease twisting knots in her stomach. Eve kissed her forehead and tucked the sheets around her like she had done when she was young. She lay in the darkness, tossing and turning beneath the covers. It didn't seem right without the warmth of his body and the shelter of his arms; he may have only stayed with her for two nights, but it felt so natural it was like they had been together for years.

It took her well over forty five minutes to slip into an uncomfortable, uneasy sleep.

He had a head start on them, but Zachariah's angels were still diligently following him all over the earth. He flitted to Australia, in the middle of the arid, desolate outback, then to Russia, to the coldest, most isolated forest he could find, then to a grubby back alley in the middle of New York, but they still followed him. He couldn't stay anywhere long enough to get a message to either Dean or Miriana. He finally stopped in Rio de Janeiro, sheltering in the masses of people that flocked through the narrow, claustrophobic streets. Nobody looked at him twice. He only needed a few short minutes to contact the hunters, just enough time to give them address at which to meet before he carried on his whistle stop tour across the world, trying to throw off his pursuers. He closed his eyes and concentrated hard, throwing his mind out to find Miriana.

When Miriana opened her eyes, she wasn't lying in her bed like she had expected. She was stood beside Lake Pleasant at dusk, the sky painted in stripes of mandarin, violet and indigo, a cold breeze knifing through the thin cotton of her t-shirt and pyjama bottoms. Had she been sleepwalking? She was sure the sky had been much darker before she had fallen asleep.

Aware that someone was behind her, she turned to see Castiel, feeling relief flood through her like a tidal wave.

"Oh my God," she said, steeping towards him and throwing her arms around his shoulders, "I thought-I thought you were-"

He pushed her backwards, holding her at arm's length, "I don't have time. You need to listen."

"What? I don't understand, what is-"

He cut her off, "Listen! They might be listening, just meet me here."

He pressed a folded piece of paper into her shaking hands, and then vanished, leaving her stood alone and shivering by the lapping waves of the lake.

She jerked awake in her bed, staring at the stripes of moonlight on the ceiling of her room. She remembered the address perfectly, even though it had been given to her in a dream. 35, Northpoint road, Chicago, Illinois.


	56. Hurricane

_Hi, a bit of a chapter, but I hope you like it; I wanted to get it out in case you hunted me down and killed me for updating fast enough :/ Thanks for all the amazing reviews, I'm glad you're all still enjoying it. I hope you like my version of what happened to Castiel with the angels; next chapter i'll be going into what happens to Cas in heavens prison, so I hope you like my interpretation. I'm kind of worried it isn't right. Anyhoo, thats enough from me, hope you enjoy and thanks as always :)_

"Where do you think you're going at this time?!" her aunt demanded, watching Miriana load up her car with hastily packed bags.

"I've told you, he asked me to meet him in Chicago, at a warehouse," Miriana said exasperatedly, shrugging on her leather jacket.

"But it's nearly eleven o'clock at night!" Eve said, struggling to keep her voice down so Nate wouldn't come blundering outside to see what the argument was about, "Can't it wait?!"

"No!" Miriana snapped, unlocking her car and throwing the door open a little too hard, "It can't wait. He's neck deep in some serious crap, I could tell. I'm not leaving him."

"Can't you ring Dean and ask him to go?" her aunt offered, pulling her lilac dressing gown around her a little tighter.

"He already knows Cas came to him too," Miriana muttered, jamming her car keys into the ignition, "And I'm meeting him and Sam there."

Her aunt caught the top of the door before Miriana slammed it shut, "I don't like this. I appreciate that you care about him, but you shouldn't be rushing out like this. If he's hiding you from angels, you can't help him. You said yourself you can't fight them off."

"It doesn't matter. I owe him this."

Her aunt shook her head sadly, "What is it with you and your constant need to save everyone?"

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about," Miriana grumbled, slamming the door in her aunt's face. She pulled out of the drive with a huge crunching of gravel, spinning the car around and speeding far too fast down the narrow road that led to the highway. As she pulled out onto the wide, empty road that led out of town, she checked in her pocket for the comforting, rough material of the hex bag. She had left the other back at the house where it wouldn't be found or accidentally moved; she guessed that the angels were clever enough to know that going after her family would be one sure fire way to get Miriana to hand herself over to them. And she really wasn't in the mood to do that.

She knew her aunt was completely right; it was a stupid idea to go rushing to him in the middle of the night when anything could be waiting at the other end. But she didn't feel that she had a choice. This was the one and only chance she could have to repay him for the number of times he had saved her life. She still couldn't ignore the more rational side of her brain that told her she wasn't exactly going to be useful it came to a showdown between angels, but she guessed it was the thought that counted. She was apprehensive about what he might tell her, if she found him in one piece. What could be so bad it kept him on the run from heaven? Something in her head told it might be best to turn the car around and leave Sam and Dean to discover whatever revelation Castiel had for them. She reckoned in the last six months, she'd had just about enough of earth shattering news.

He'd managed to shake them off, at least for a few hours. He paced nervously back and forth across the empty warehouse, his footsteps echoing off the cold metal walls and floor. They were taking too long. He'd deliberately not gone straight to Dean or Miriana, although in Miriana's case, she was shielded anyway. Direct contact risked Zachariah finding them, but there was no way he could guarantee that he wouldn't find the Winchesters and stop them getting to him. In Miriana's case, he just prayed that she remembered to keep the hex bag with her at all times; Zachariah wouldn't think twice about ripping her into pieces if he managed to get his hands on her. He knew that Zachariah was only a few miles away, but he figured choosing a spot right underneath his nose might throw him off for a little while. At least that was the theory.

There was a scrape in the corner of the hall, the grating sound of metal on metal, followed by a clang, then silence. He tensed all over, focusing every sense for the sign of an intruder. There was a brief flicker of movement in the shadows, and in his peripheral vision he caught another shift in the shadows, then the sound of footsteps directly behind him. Two angels melted out of the dense darkness in front of him, followed by two others , women this time, one of them tall and blonde, the other tiny and dark haired, watching him with eyes colder than the air around them.

A voice spoke behind him, and he whirled to face them, "You can come quietly and do as you're told, or we can make this very difficult."

He recognized him as one of the angels that had been guarding him back in the hotel, the suit still perfectly immaculate despite chasing Castiel all over the earth.

"Come on brother," he implored, "You can't want to follow Zachariah. You can't want the apocalypse to happen. Aren't you tired of fighting?"

"Not really," he replied, shrugging, "I happen to relish the smell of blood."

"What about the rest of you?" he asked, throwing his voice so the others would hear him, "Haven't you had enough?"

None of them replied; he guessed they didn't dare speak out for fear of suffering the same fate he was about to. He saw the dark haired woman frown briefly, as if she agreed with him, but then her face smoothed out again, the cold mask returning. Trying to reason them obviously wasn't going to work.

"Stop trying to worm your way out of this," the angel snapped, stepping forwards, "We have orders to remove you from your host and take you to the garrison prison."

He had never been there, but he had heard the stories. Anna had been there once, for defying Zachariah, and she had refused to talk about it, no matter how much he had pleaded with her. It hadn't been long after that she had ripped out her grace and fallen from heaven. Not exactly encouraging memories.

"I don't think so," he said, and the angel's eyebrows shot up in response.

"You're not the meek little soldier you used to be," he mused, "Well, Zachariah was right; that woman you've been slumming it with really must be something."

He took a few steps closer, a mocking smile on his face, "Tell me something- how easily does she spread her legs, huh? Might be useful to know when you're rotting away in prison."

Without even thinking he stepped forwards and slammed his fist across the angel's face, breaking the cheekbone and loosening three teeth, satisfied by the sound of the bones splintering and crunching into fragments. He drove his fist into the other angel's stomach, driving all the air from his lungs and sending him crashing to the floor, coughing and gasping. He spat out a mouthful of blood onto the metal floor, wiping his fist across the back of his mouth, staining the white cuffs of his shirt crimson. He flashed him a cruel, bloody smile, and he cursed his temper; he had played exactly into his hands. There was no chance he could get away now. But he had to do something to ease the furious burn of anger in his chest. He was sick of them treating her like a whore, no better than something they would scrape of the bottom of their sleek black leather shoes.

"Take him."

He felt heavy close across his chest like iron bars, dragging him backwards. There was an odd, uncomfortable tugging in his chest, and he realized they weren't lying about pulling him from his vessel. He managed to break the constricting hold of the other angels and he threw them off, sending them flying into the wall. As soon as he pushed them away, another two clamped their arms on his shoulders, holding him in place. With every ounce of effort and power that he had in his restrictive vessel he pushed the other angels as far away from him as he could, cutting clean through the power lines in the walls and ceilings so white hot sparks rained down onto the floor. A second later, the long panes of glass in the tall windows burst inwards, spraying deadly shards of glass the size of kitchen knives into the hall, catching one of the angels straight through the chest, impaling him to the floor. The two female angels smashed into the metal supports that held up the stairs; great sections on metal fell away and the twisted remains collided with the floor, breaking off and skidding across the floor, leaving great dents in the floor. He ducked underneath a great chunk of metal as it soared over his head, smashing straight into the generator at the end of the hall. He had thought it was long dead, but evidently it still had some power left in it; the collision sent out a shower of sparks that blossomed into a complete explosion that blew out the very foundations of the warehouse, blowing out the wall and sending a cascade of thick wires crashing down from the ceiling.

His ears still ringing, he clambered to his feet, casting his eyes around the twisted carcass of what used to be the warehouse, scanning for the other angels. Just as he thought he was lucky enough to have escaped again, hand closed around his throat from behind; one of the women had managed to claw her way free from the wreckage, and he could feel her long nails digging into his skin like barbs. He threw her off, gasping heavily, standing upright when he saw something that made his heart flip over in his chest.

A huge sigil was painted on one of the remaining walls in blood, great thick dark strokes of it, shining black in the muted light. He registered what it was a second too late; the angel that had taunted him about Miriana slammed his open palm onto the symbol, and a millisecond later, the most unbelievable, gut wrenching pain raced through him like a fever. He felt as if he had just been torn apart straight down the very centre of his being, ripping every fibre of himself apart. He felt the razor sharp edge of pain as he was literally ripped from his vessel, his wings unfurling painfully as he tried to steady himself, feeling sure the force of it would cleave him in two. The air whipped at the long feathers, breaking the fragile bones in the tips of his wings, which threatened to pull themselves free of his shoulder blades. He heard the angel laughing, distantly and oddly muffled, as if he was hearing it through water, he saw Jimmy crumple to the floor underneath him, and then everything went utterly black.

"You look like crap," was the first thing Dean said to Miriana as she met them outside the warehouse.

"I've been up all night, what's your excuse?" she quipped back, earning her a rare, (at least it was nowadays,) smile.

All three of them pulled flashlights from their jackets, switching them on so the bright white beams cut through the darkness. There was steam everywhere, great coiling pillars of smoke rising through the shadows. She nervously followed behind Sam and Dean as they headed towards the end of the long corridor, bickering quietly.

"Well, what did he say, Dean? What was so important?"

"If I knew, would I be here?" Dean grumbled back.

The climbed up the stairs in front of them, Dean swearing quietly when they saw what awaited them at the top of the stairs.

If she didn't know any better, Miriana would have said a bomb had hit it, from the great twisted hunks of metal that were gathered in piles all around them, making it impossible to walk from one side of the warehouse to the other without colliding with something. She started when a great wire as thick as a python sparked behind them, followed by a series of smaller snaps as other wires fired off bursts of electricity.

"What the hell?" Dean muttered, throwing the torch light all over the wall and dilapidated ceiling.

"It looks like a bomb went off," Sam said, voicing Miriana's earlier thought. It was completely silent, except for the soft sound of their footsteps and the occasional crackle as the wires that snaked from the wires and ceiling shot out dying arcs of white electricity.

"There was a fight here," Dean said quietly. Miriana's stomach gave a nervous flip; if this was the state of the battlefield, what state would Cas be in?

"Between who?" Sam asked, following his brother and Miriana and they picked their way deeper into the bowels of the shattered warehouse.

Miriana felt Dean tap her shoulder, "Check it out."

Both she and Sam followed the line of the torch as it washed over the wall in front of them, the column of light revealing a huge crudely drawn symbol, painted in something that looked far too wet and sticky to be paint. It looked oddly familiar, although she couldn't place where she had seen it.

"Look familiar?" Dean questioned, and Miriana nodded.

"Yeah it does," answered Sam, frowning.

"Anna used something like that to send the angels back to the cornfield," Dean explained, answering her unasked question.

"So what, Cas was fighting angels?" Sam said, bewildered. Miriana knew perfectly well that he was fighting angels, but she bit her tongue. It wouldn't be the best idea to reveal her continued contact to them right now, especially not after Dean's reaction last time.

"I don't know," Dean mumbled, turning around to search through the twisted wreckage behind him.

"Sam, Miriana."

She could tell by the tone of his voice that something was wrong; she turned to follow Dean's gaze, catching a flash of trench coat and a limp figure collapsed across the floor. Without even thinking, she pushed past Dean, jumping over a jagged metal strut and crouching down next to him, cradling his head in her hands. She noticed Dean watching her carefully, before he crouched next to her, nudging Castiel's limp figure in the chest.

"Cas?" he and Sam asked tentatively, slapping his shoulder, "Hey Cas?"

He jerked away from them quickly, coughing and spluttering, struggling to get to his feet.

"What's-what's-what's going on?" he stuttered. Miriana frowned. There was something completely off about the tenor of his voice; it wasn't as deep and gravelly as it should be.

Dean kept a hand on his shoulder, "Just take it easy. Take it easy."

"Cas? You okay?" Sam asked. This seemed like a stupid question to Miriana. He didn't seem okay at all. He sounded completely confused and disorientated, an emotion she never thought she would see so strongly in him.

He got to his feet, patting his chest, as if trying to convince himself he was still in one whole piece.

"Castiel," he said. Yep, something was definitely wrong with his voice. Way too high, not gruff enough.

"I'm not Castiel," he said, blinking rapidly, staring between the three of them with no recognition in his eyes. Maybe his head had been knocked around in the fight. Bleeding on the brain could do all sorts of strange things. "It's me."

Sam threw his arms up in frustration, "Who's me?"

"Jimmy," he replied, swallowing hard, "My name's Jimmy."

Of course. The vessel. She had completely forgotten. Realisation sank its cold teeth into her stomach.

Dean looked him up and down suspiciously, "Where the hell is Castiel?"

"He's gone," he replied, shaking his head.

Dean shared incredulous looks with the both of them, and Sam gave his usual nervous twitch of his shoulders. Jimmy's eyes passed over Dean and Sam and settled on Miriana, a frown across his forehead. She sincerely hoped that wasn't recognition in his eyes.


	57. Stripped

_Hi, hope you all enjoy this chapter. I found this chapter quite hard to write, but hopefully you'll like it. A huge thanks for all the amazing reviews; you all deserve hugs from the supernatural boys and cookies! :) On another note OMG did anyone watch Swan Song? I sobbed my heart out! Maybe I shouldn't admit that, but I did! It put me in a depressed mood all night :( Anyhoo, hope you enjoy. :)_

When consciousness returned to Castiel, he became suddenly aware that he was in a considerable amount of discomfort, which was a highly unusual sensation. He opened his eyes slowly, taking in the room he was in. It was deeply shadowed, save for a single thick beam of light that was originating somewhere above his head. There was a single door facing him, with a metal grille at eye level, and several thick locks and bolts with enochian sigils carved into the metal. It didn't look any different than any room that could be found on earth.

He tried to move, and found that his wrists were bound tightly behind his back with thick, metal cuffs; he could feel the enochian symbols etched into the metal burning his skin. He tugged at them a few more times and heard the scratching as the metal links that held him to the wall scraped against the floor, jarring in his ears. The skin around the cuffs burst into angry blisters and the skin began flaying, the blood hissing and sputtering like candle wax when it came into contact with the hot metal. He tried to move himself away from the wall a little, but as soon as he tried he felt a sharp, piercing tearing above his shoulder blades. Oh. So this was what pain felt like.

He managed to turn his head to look at the source of pain, and found that there were great, vicious spikes of metal pinning his wings to the wall, shredding long white feathers into bloodied tufts, piercing through the fine tracery of narrow capillaries and veins that fanned across his wings, damaging the nerves and sending white hot heat down his spine. He tried to move again and felt a few more fine bones splinter and snap, breaking as easily as porcelain. He hissed in pain and slumped back against the wall, defeated, trying not to focus on the irritating feeling of hot trails of blood snaking down his shoulders and bare chest. He was pinned like a butterfly against a board, completely helpless. Zachariah must have used sigils to render him powerless; he felt like someone had clamped an iron bar across his soul, which his grace struggled against futilely, dampening any power he had. It was most frustrating.

He gave up trying to break free and leaned heavily against the wall, every nerve in his wrists and shoulder blades protesting at the uncomfortable position he was being forced in. Although he was trying his absolute best not the think about it, he was dreading what Zachariah had planned for him next, what new methods he would conjure up to get Castiel to submit. He wasn't used to the sensation of pain; he had no idea how to deal with what was coming next. He decided to focus on the pleasant thought of Miriana, and how beautiful she looked when was bathed in the warm, liquid bronze light of the setting sun, and the sweet taste of her lips on his. He found the memory of her helped to at least the numb the stabbing pain in his wings and the ache in his body.

At that moment, the was a loud metallic squeal as the bolts across the door were yanked back and the heavy door swung open, revealing Zachariah on the other side, holding a long, jagged silver blade in one hand, his suit immaculate as always. With a flick of his wrists he slammed the door behind him.

He stood in front of Castiel, running a fingernail down the edge of the blade, "How are we feeling?"

He didn't reply, as Zachariah gave a cold chuckle, "Not in the talking mood, huh? Well, you will be soon."

"Where is this?" he asked, gesturing with his head at the room. His throat felt thick and dry.

"The darkest corner of heaven," Zachariah replied, "You're really in the bowels of the prison here, boy. We only save this place for the really bad eggs."

He kept his mouth shut again, trying to ignore the coil of fear and dread in his stomach.

"Will you obey us?" Zachariah questioned.

"You mean help bring on the apocalypse and help humanity burn?"

"And turn your back on that woman," there was no denying the venom in his voice when he spoke of Miriana.

"No."

Zachariah shook his head almost sadly, "I was hoping it wouldn't come to this, Castiel. You are...were such a good soldier."

The door swung open again and two angels stepped through, their faces expressionless.

"Take him to the room," Zachariah commanded, as the angels stepped towards Castiel. One of them wrenched the spikes free from where they were driven through his wings, and he hissed again when the cold air hit the exposed, damaged. The cuffs that linked his wrists sprang open and he was heaved to his feet. He was grateful for the chance to stretch his contorted muscles, if nothing else. Zachariah stepped aside and allowed them to drag Castiel out the door and into a long harshly lit corridor, down to a door a few paces down the hall. Another angel was waiting there to throw open yet another heavy door, revealing another prison cell, but in this one the walls were lined with every time and torture device he imagined heaven possessed. How had he never known about this? How long had his superiors been torturing the disobedient?

The angels marched him forwards and dropped him to the floor, moving behind to pull his arms straight, slipping his wrists through cuffs that burned when they came into contact with his already abused skin, melting it like candle wax. He bit his bottom lip hard enough to taste blood to stop himself screaming out. He waited for the tearing, ripping pain of the spikes through his wings, but they never came. The angels that had cuffed him to the wall stepped back, and with a glance from Zachariah, they swept out of the room.

Zachariah stepped to one side and pulled a long, slender urn from the rack of instruments in the corner of the room, and poured the thick, clear oil over the vicious blade he held in his hands. It was only when Zachariah touched the tip of a fire brand to the blade that he realised what the liquid in the urn was. Holy oil. It would burn him to cinders; he had seen it once before, when he was very young, when Michael had tried to subdue a raging Lucifer as he rampaged through heaven's halls. He had seen the vivid orange flames, smelt fire consuming the flesh, heard the scream of pain from the older brother who had never seemed to have felt an ounce of pain once in his long life.

Zachariah lifted the blade in front of his face, smiling almost proudly at the vivid orange flames that licked against the serrated edge of the blade. He walked slowly over to Castiel, who kept his eyes firmly trained on him, determined not to drop his head. With one swift and sudden movement, Zachariah sliced the burning blade right down Castiel's chest, from shoulder to hip. The burning heat engraved his skin, smouldering through tendons, muscles, all the way down to the bone, the heat hissing and crackling as it destroyed and ravaged every cell of his body in its path. He couldn't stop the roar of pain that left his lips, and Zachariah gave a satisfied smile. The air filled with the cloying, choking smell of burning skin.

"Feel like co-operating yet?"

Miriana was pretty sure her head was about to explode. It was worse than she could have possibly imagined, presented with the face of the man she loved, when there was a completely different person inside him. She had never once spared a thought for the vessel, that he was still in there. To her, he was Castiel, not Jimmy Novak. And now she watching him chow down on his fourth burger, slumped against the table with none of Castiel's grace, and she was waiting for head to implode from the weirdest information overload she had ever had.

She leaned against the wall, as far away from him as possible, whilst Dean and Sam sat on the chairs near the table, watching him with almost fascination, as if he were a really interesting animal in a zoo. She guessed they were in the same position that she was.

"Will you slow down?" Dean said, watching him stuff yet another burger into his mouth, "You're gonna give me angina."

Jimmy (she had to keep mentally slapping herself every time she called him Castiel) shrugged, "I'm hungry."

"When's the last time you ate?" Sam asked, watching Jimmy reach for the jumbo sized Pepsi and take a huge slurp.

He shrugged, "I dunno. Months."

Dean turned to glance at Miriana, giving her a 'what the hell look' whilst Jimmy continued to wolf down his cholesterol in burger form. She wanted to take it away from him; she didn't want to him to harm Cas's body, but again she had to remind herself that it wasn't his body to take. He had stolen Jimmy's body, not the other way around.

"What the hell happened back there?" Sam asked, "It looked like an angel battle royale."

Jimmy shrugged again, "All I remember is this flash of light, and I uh...I woke up and I was just, you know, like me again."

"So what? Cas just ditched out of your meat suit?" Dean asked. Miriana had the feeling that him leaving Jimmy hadn't been a voluntary action.

"I really don't know," he replied, shaking his head.

"You remember anything about being possessed? Anything at all?"

"Yeah bits and pieces," Jimmy replied, "I mean, angel inside you, it's kind of like being chained to a comet."

"That doesn't sound like much fun," Dean muttered.

Jimmy nodded emphatically, "Understatement."

"Cas said he wanted to tell us something," Sam began, looking apprehensively at Jimmy, "_Please _tell me you remember that."

"Sorry."

Both Dean and Sam gave a heavy sigh. Miriana wanted to tell them that she was pretty sure whatever Cas wanted to tell them had lead to him being dragged kicking and screaming back to heaven. But she decided it might be best to keep her mouth shut, in case the sound of her voice caused Jimmy to have a sudden flashback. She didn't think she could take the embarrassment of that; it would be better if she could just keep out of his way so there was trigger for his memory.

"Come on, what do you know?" Dean grumbled.

He paused for a long moment, "My name is Jimmy Novak. I'm from Pontiac Illinois. I have a family."

Miriana felt a sudden crushing sense of guilt. He had a family, a wife; oh God, what had she done?

Dean stood up, evidently feeling he wasn't going to get anything useful out of Jimmy, "Come on Sammy, I need to talk to you outside. Miriana, you keep an eye on him."

She felt he stomach drop when all the eyes in the room, including Jimmy's, turned to her, hovering in the shadows.

"Why me?" she protested as Dean swept past her towards the door.

"Just because," was Dean's unhelpful reply.

She caught his arm and leaned moved her mouth closer to his ear, "You can't leave me alone with him. What if he remembers something, about you know...me and Cas."

Dean simply shrugged, "Maybe that'll teach you not to go after angels."

"Dick," Miriana spat as Dean threw open the door and strode outside, followed by Sam, who gave Miriana a curious look as he loped past.

An awkward silence descended over the room, but she was determined not to break it. It seemed like years before he finally spoke.

"So, can I go home soon?" he asked hopefully, looking over at her from his seat at the table.

"I don't know," she replied, trying to keep her answers as short as possible.

"What are they talking about?" he said, gesturing out the window at the Winchesters tall silhouettes.

"I don't know," she replied again. Why did he have to ask questions?

He sighed heavily, getting to his feet, "This is ridiculous, I'm a grown man, I'm not being kept here like some prisoner."

He moved towards the door, but Miriana moved smoothly in front of it, blocking it.

"I don't think that's a good idea," she said in as calm a voice as she could manage, "Just talk to Sam and Dean."

"But-" he began, but she cut across him.

"They won't be long."

He glanced out the window then back to her face, a frown appearing across his features.

"I know you," he said, his eyes flicking back and forth, "How do I know you?"

Miriana swore inside her head, mentally kicking herself for letting him get so close, "Cas used to talk to me sometimes, like the Winchesters. That's probably why."

He shook his head, still frowning at her, "I don't remember them like I remember you."

"I don't know," she said again, "Just please; don't go rushing off just yet."

He moved away from the door, but he kept his eyes trained on her; she could practically hear the cogs in his head turning.

She saw realisation flit across his features, "Oh man..."

She was saved at that moment by the door flying open and the Winchesters came striding in.

"So Jimmy," Dean began, "We've had a little chat and we've decided you can't go home just yet."

Evidently this piece of news knocked any thought of Miriana out of his head, "What the hell are you talking about, I can't go home?"

"Chance is you have a bull's eye on you," Dean replied.

"What? From who?"

Dean glanced at Sam, evidently deciding how much to tell him, "Demons."

"Come on, that's crazy!" Jimmy said incredulously, "What do they want with me?"

Dean shrugged, "Information, maybe?"

"I don't know anything!" he said, frustrated.

"I know, but-"

"Look, I'm done, okay?" Jimmy said, snatching his trench coat from where it lay crumpled on the bed, "With demons, angels all of it. I just wanna go home."

"We understand," Dean said, in his best diplomatic voice.

"I don't think you do understand," Jimmy said, his voice rising in volume, "I've been shot and stabbed and healed and dragged all over the earth. By some miracle, I'm out, and I am done. I've done enough."

Sam got to his feet, holding out a diplomatic hand, "Look, all we're saying is that until we figure this out the safest place is with us."

Jimmy took a deep breath, "How long?"

Sam gave his shoulder twitch, "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

Jimmy shook his head and made a move towards the door, but Sam stepped in the doorway, and there was absolutely no way he could get past Sam's hulking physique. She had never quite realised how huge Sam actually was, because Jimmy was considerably taller than Miriana. She must look like a midget freak next to Sam.

"Where are you going?" Dean demanded.

"To see my wife and daughter, okay?"

"No you're not," Sam said, "You're just gonna put those people in danger."

"So what, now I'm a prisoner?"

Sam gave a little shrug, "Harsh way to put it."

He shook his head and threw himself onto the nearest bed, "Fine."

The awkward silence returned, and Dean let out a low whistle.

"Okey dokey, this is awkward. Sammy, we're going out to get food, you," he pointed at Miriana, "Watch him again."

He was doing it on purpose, she was sure, trying to make her as uncomfortable as possible, perhaps to show her just how much of a huge mistake she had made. She didn't need him to tell her; she had realised perfectly well on her own.

The door slammed shut behind them and Miriana slumped into the nearest seat, trying her best not to look at Jimmy, even though she could feel his eyes burning a hole straight through her.

She sighed heavily, "So I'm guessing you remember, huh?"

"Uhh...yeah kind of."

She gave a weak laugh, "Oh, terrific."

He didn't say anything in response to this, "Look, for what it's worth, "I'm sorry. I didn't think that there was somebody in there with him, or that he was in there with you...whatever."

"It's okay," he said, and she was thankful to heat that it sounded like he actually meant it.

"No, it's really not," she said, scratching flakes of paint off the table with her fingernails, "It must be messing with your head. It's messing with mine. I mean, you have a kid and a wife, and it's just...all wrong."

Jimmy shrugged, "I dunno, in some ways I should be thanking you."

She was so surprised she looked up from the battered surface of the table and met his eyes, "Why the hell would you thank me?"

"Well, having an angel up here," he tapped the side of his head, "It's not fun. I mean, he doesn't eat or sleep or _feel _anything, he just...follows his orders. Well, he did at first. After a while, I just sort of...tuned it out, fell asleep I guess. And then, this day a couple of weeks after I was possessed, something sort of woke me up. I could feel my heart going, and my throat was dry; I actually felt nervous. Well, he was, and I was feeling it along with him. And I looked through his eyes, well, mine really, and you were stood there. You were soaked and shivering and I told him it would be nice of him to take you somewhere warm if he was gonna talk to you, but he didn't listen. I don't even know if he could hear me. Then he left, and he just shut off all that emotion like a tap, and I couldn't feel anything again, I just slipped away. Next thing I remember, he's holding you in his, or my, arms, and he's talking to me, asking me why the possibility of your death hurts so much, even though he's not injured. And he was frightened, even though he had no idea what fear was. So I can thank you. I felt more like a human being when you were around."

She sat through everything he said in complete silence, trying to take it all in. It was difficult to understand the idea of being trapped inside your own head, your mind filled with a being so powerful you couldn't even feel anything anymore.

"Aren't you pissed at me? Surely it's like cheating on your wife with me or something?"

"Think about it, you weren't kissing me," he said, leaning back in his chair, seemingly perfectly at ease with such a weird conversation, "Not really. You were kissing Castiel; you didn't even know me."

She rubbed her forehead, "You know what? This conversation is too weird, as soon as Sam and Dean get back, I'm gone. You won't see me again."

"Right," he said, "What about Cas?"

Miriana frowned, "What about him?"

"Aren't you going to look for him?" he asked.

"What's the point," she said, "If he's not in you anymore, then he's in heaven. He's not going to come back, I don't think."

"He might."

"I doubt it," Miriana muttered, "He's in neck deep crap because of me. He's not going to want to find me again."

"Trust me, he was inside my head for nearly a year," Jimmy said, "He never takes his mind off you."

"I-" she began, but she was cut short by the door banging back and Dean striding into the room, half a burger clamped securely between his teeth, holding a bag of fries in one hand and a beer bottle in the other. Sam followed behind; clutching a salad in a plastic container, pulling his face at the grease fest Dean was stuffing his face with.

"How's it goin'?" he questioned, casting Miriana a meaningful look.

"Wonderfully," Miriana said bitterly, "I'm leaving."

She grabbed her jacket off the chair and snatched her car keys from the table, heading for the door. Before she opened it, she leaned in close to Dean,

"You've really enjoyed watching me so uncomfortable, haven't you? Well congratulations, Dean, I have fully learned my lesson. I won't act like such a 'drunken hooker' again."

He pulled back from her, shock blazing in his green eyes, "I didn't mean to-"

"Whatever," she snapped, struggling to keep her voice down, aware that Sam was watching them curiously from the table, a sprig of lettuce speared on his fork poised halfway towards his mouth.

"Bye Sam, and Jimmy," she turned to look at him, finding it was highly unusual for her stomach not to do back flips at the sight of his familiar face, "Hope your family is okay."

He gave her a small smile before she turned her back on the room and slammed the door in Dean's surprised face.

The two angels had returned after hours of torture to drag Castiel back to his cell, dumping him unceremoniously on the floor, not even bothering to lock him down. Zachariah watched him from the doorway of his cell, "I'll be back in a few hours. Maybe then you'll consider co-operation."

He heard the door slam shut with a heavy thud, leaving him collapsed in the dense shadows, his head pressed against the rough, cold stone floor. Everything hurt so badly he couldn't think straight, couldn't focus on anything but the crushing agony that left him limp and defeated.

Zachariah had started with the blades dipped in holy fire, lacing the trails of holy fire across his chest and down his arms in angry red welts. Nobody had bothered to treat them, and they were left raw and weeping in the open air; every time he moved the burnt skin cracked like a desert left dying in a drought. Once he'd thoroughly ruined Castiel's chest, he moved on to his wings, at first just singing the edges so the downy feathers smouldered and were left blackened, falling to floor like leaves shed from an autumn tree. When he'd still refused to co-operate, Zachariah had moved onto to a long barbed whip, the vicious silver spikes of which were tipped in demon blood, which was as poisonous to angels as snake venom was to humans. He had rent open his back with the whip, turning the skin to a bloody pulp, sending the hellish poison straight into Castiel's veins and muscles, tainting the flesh until the pain was so intense he had passed out. Every lash of the whip made his head spin and his vision waver until he couldn't breathe. Zachariah had given him a brief respite after this, leaving him gasping against the floor, his abused body refusing to listen to his commands to get up and face Zachariah like a true soldier would. But he just couldn't move; the skin across his chest tore when he tried to move, and the muscles on his back were so badly ruined they barely responded, so many of the tendons were snapped like string. He was almost paralysed.

It hadn't stopped there; Zachariah had decided to torture him in the most insulting way possible and desecrate his wings. Using a yet another cruel, serrated blade, he carved up his wings like they were hams at a Christmas table, tearing away muscles and nerves and veins, wrenching free fistfuls of long slender feathers like he was plucking a swan. He snapped bones as easily as twigs and left the sharp, knife like splinters of bone in odd, contorted angles so they wouldn't heal in the correct alignment for a very long time, which would leave him in constant pain. He'd taken hold of the long, thick bones that protruded from his shoulders and had pulled as hard as they could, until with a sickening crack, they had dislocated from his shoulder blades, leaving him unable to move his wings, scraping out skin and ligaments.

His throat was raw from screaming in agony, but no matter how many times Zachariah had asked if he would co-operate, he said no. Every time. He refused to back down, no matter how excruciating the pain. He crawled over to the corner of the wall and pressed his burning back against the cold wall, hissing when the abused, shredded skin came into contact with the rough stone wall. There was a fire racing through him like a fever, the demon blood that had been laced across the tips of the barbs on the whip starting to circulate through him, turning the blood to pure, white hot pain in his veins. He tried to flex his wings and found he couldn't, so completely demolished were the blood vessels, bones and sinew. He felt completely humiliated, stripped of all of his pride and power, horribly weak.

He lost track of how long he lay against the floor, praying to his father, begging him to help, when he suddenly felt soft, comforting hands moving across his forehead, wiping away the feverish sheen of sweat. He caught a faint aroma of citrus and when he opened his dry eyes, he found a familiar pair of dark chocolate eyes watching him through a fringe of long dark eyelashes.

It was impossible for her to be with him. She couldn't cross the astral plane into heaven, and even if she could, she'd have to have fought her way past the guards. Nor would she able to look at him in this form or hear his voice without her eyes burning right out of her sockets or being instantly deafened. The rational part of his brain that managed to rise above the pain told him he was hallucinating, but he didn't care. It was a wonderful hallucination.

"Miriana?" he croaked, "You can't be here."

She let out a soft laugh, her voice echoing slightly, "Of course I'm not really here. You're imagining it, Cas. But does it matter?"

He focused on the soothing sensation of her hands stroking over the parts of his chest that weren't ravaged, "No."

She leaned a little closer, pressing her lips against his cheek, moving to whisper in his ear, "You have to be strong for me. You have to fight."

He squeezed his eyes tight shut, "I'm trying. It hurts so much."

"I know," she murmured, lifting his head gently to rest it in her lap, "But you can fight it, sweetheart."

He let his breathing slow right down whilst her hands ghosted down his shoulders and chest, avoiding the weeping rents in his skin that went all the way down to the bone. The pain was receding, at least a little bit. He inhaled the scent of her, perfume mixed with leather and washing powder, the rough fabric of her jeans oddly comforting underneath his cheek. She slipped her fingers though his, the other hand tracing a path from his face down his neck and across the planes of his chest.

"If I don't make it out of here," he started, opening his eyes to look at her.

"You will get out of here," she said forcefully.

"If I don't," he rasped, "I think I love you."

A small smile turned up the corners of her lips, "Shh...you need to rest."

"I mean it," he said, coughing when fresh air invaded down his dry, raw throat.

"I know," she said again, tracing her fingertips over his eyes so they fluttered shut. He surrendered to the overwhelming desire to let himself drift away from the pain. A great groan of metal woke him up some time later, alone in the room, the heavenly hallucination of Miriana gone.

Zachariah stepped into the light, once again holding the cruel knife in his hands.

"Castiel," he announced, straightening his tie, "Ready for round two?"


	58. Another Round

_Hey, just a short chapter, I promise it'll be longer at the weekend. Just a note to tell you all; If my updates are a little slow for the next three weeks I'm really sorry, but I have some massively important AS level exams and even though I'm good at time management and have been revising for what feels like years I still have a lot to do. I'll try to do my best and update, but if I don't I really, really apologize. It'll only be for a few weeks then things are back to normal and I'll probably update even more when the summer comes. :) Anyhoo, huge, massive thanks and hugs to all reviewers and favouriters, thank you so much :) I hope you enjoy this little chapter. :)_

Miriana had stopped in the nearest bar and ordered the largest and most expensive bottle of wine she could find and retreated to darkest corner of the smoky bar with it, fully intending to drown her sorrows. Her rational brain told her she wouldn't be able to drive anywhere and find a motel room, but she had already decided to sleep in the car, so she carried on downing the wine, glass after glass, mulling over everything that had happened.

Meeting Jimmy had been the oddest experience of her life. She had kept waiting her pulse to race every time he looked at her, or to feel the overwhelming urge to touch him, to be pulled towards him like a magnet. But it never came. Without Castiel behind them, his eyes had no power over her. Sure, she still thought he was physically attractive, but that was about it; no magnetism, no desire. She supposed it was comforting in some ways; at least she knew she was definitely in love with Castiel and not the body he was wearing.

Although she tried hard not to think about him, she was terrified for him. She felt completely useless; all the times he had saved her life, and she had no way to repay him, not even when he really needed her. She downed another glass of wine. Then again, she couldn't imagine he would want her help. It was her fault he was dragged away in the first place. She had already resigned herself to the fact that he would no doubt hate her when he returned to earth. If he returned. She also had to tell herself that he wouldn't look like Jimmy if he did come back; Jimmy had his own life back now. She couldn't imagine he would welcome Castiel back in. Her relationship with Cas was so weird and twisted; it made her want to laugh. Or cry.

She pulled her face when she found her wine bottle was empty, and got slowly to her feet, swaying slightly when she stood up. She didn't feel very drunk, just a little bit tipsy, just enough to take away the worrying thoughts and take the edge of the headache she had felt coming on. She'd have a worse headache in the morning, but right at that moment she didn't care. She grabbed her jacket from where it lay over the chair and shrugged it on, heading for the door.

She'd been in the bar longer than she'd thought; it was far quieter than it had been when she'd walked in, and the car park was virtually empty. She slowly made her way over to her car, which was parked in the furthest corner of the car park. She fumbled inside her pockets, pulling her car keys free, when she stopped suddenly, her hands still shoved deep in her jacket, her sluggish brain struggling to work out what was wrong. Realisation hit her with the force of a freight train, cutting through the alcohol haze. She didn't have the hex bag. She had kept it in the inside pocket of her leather jacket ever since Cas had left it for her, and now she didn't have it. She swore loudly, pulling her jacket off her shoulders and shaking it, hoping that it might tumble out. But it didn't. Swearing again, she unlocked her car and threw the door open, switching on the light above the driver's seat and kneeling down, running her hands underneath the seat, praying that it had rolled underneath. But her hands came back with nothing but dust. She felt close to tears. She was completely defenceless, alone and unprotected, and now the angels could find her.

"Oh perfect," she sighed, slumping down into the front seat of her car.

Zachariah was getting even more inventive in his attempts to break Castiel. Demon blood was his new weapon of choice; he used great syringes of it to inject to poison straight into his veins, which knocked him unconscious the first time round. Zachariah soon adjusted this by giving him slightly less each time, enough to send him into the grip of burning, horrific agony, but not enough for him to lose his grip on consciousness. It turned the blood in his veins black, and left the vessels boiling hot, but his skin as cold as ice. None of his wounds from the previous day had healed, and the angry burns from the holy fire were even worse, weeping and sending splinters of pain through him every time he moved. He was certain he could feel them beginning to turn septic, along with the bloody pulp of his back. To make his situation even worse, the demon blood gave him horrendous hallucinations and not comforting ones of Miriana soothing his pain, but nightmarish things that crawled at the edges of his vision. He suffered the worst delusions ever when they returned him to his cell after another long day of misery and pain. When he closed his eyes, he saw the earth burning to cinders, Lucifer, wearing Sam Winchesters face, laughing whilst humanity screamed as the fire licked at them hungrily. He saw Dean dead, his green eyes staring at the smoky sky, his body twisted, and beside him, the most horrific thing he had endured throughout all of his torment. Although he tried to tell himself it was an illusion, nothing but a bad dream conjured up by the poison in his veins; the sight of Miriana's dead body was enough to shatter his already broken mind into further jagged fragments. _It's not real, _he told himself, _none of its real. _He opened his eyes to remove the hellish vision from his head, trying to forget her blank, cold stare, the warmth in her eyes dead, her smooth pale skin cold and soaked in thick rivulets of blood. He sobbed against the stone floor, begging for someone, anyone to make it stop. Why was his father letting them do this? Was what he had done so wrong? Did wanting to protect his father's creations deserve so much punishment? He didn't understand why love led him to be treated like a criminal, when he loved his father so much. He knew he loved Miriana in a completely different way, but it didn't change the principle; his devotion to her was no different.

"I know it's hard to understand," came her voice from somewhere just above his head, "But it will work out in the end. I promise you."

"You're back," he sighed, feeling relief wash through him at the sound of the hallucination, strong enough to numb the pain, "I saw you dead."

"It wasn't real," she murmured softly, kneeling down next to him, laying her hand across his forehead.

"Neither is this," he rasped, "You're not really here."

"But you know I would be if I could," she murmured gently, "As long as I'm in here," she touched his chest, just above where his heart fluttered weakly, "I'm with you."

"I can't do this," he confessed in a whisper, "Not anymore."

"Then don't," she told him, moving her hands to run them through his hair.

"You m-mean give in?" he stuttered.

"Mmm-hmm," she said serenely, "Just tell them you'll obey."

"If I do that," he croaked, "I can't be with you. They won't allow it."

"Maybe that's what has to happen," she said softly, touching his lips.

"I don't want to be without you," he said.

"You're without me now," she said gently, gesturing around the dull cell, "You don't have a choice. Even if you return to earth and come to me, they'll hunt you down and drag you away again. And they will kill me. You know that."

He turned his face into the cradle of her hands, "I know they will, but I just...I need you."

"You did perfectly well without me for two thousand years."

"Only because I didn't know what I was missing," he retorted.

"Please just say you'll do what they want," she implored, holding his face between her slender hands, "I don't mind dying so much, but I can't bear to think of you in pain."

"Don't..." he started weakly, "Don't talk about you dying."

She shrugged, "It'll happen to me someday."

"I don't want to think about it."

"Then don't," she crooned gently, stroking the hollows underneath his eyes, "Just rest."

"If if do, you'll disappear again," he muttered. It was hard to fight the sensation; he could already feel the dream of her slipping away, into blackness again.

Zachariah stood in front of the mirror in the executive suite, scrubbing Castiel's blood off of his hands. He certainly bled a lot; he had already ruined two of Zachariah's best suits.

He was beginning to get very impatient; he had honestly believed that Castiel would have given in straight away and carried on with his duties like the obedient little solider he always had been. But it seemed he must be more enamoured with that woman than he thought, and liked helping the Winchesters a little too much. He had always been alone, ever since his creation; he seemed to prefer being on his alone, rather than being surrounded by the other angels in the garrison. Zachariah had always thought he was a little odd, a little too compassionate and curious about everything and anything to do with humanity. Always flitting down to earth and reading huge numbers of every type of book or walking unnoitced amongst humanity just to learn something new about them. But he had never caused a problem until now.

He walked back into the hotel room, easing into the plush leather chair, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. He swallowed the burning amber liquid, rolling the rich taste around in his mouth. He supposed there were some aspects of humanity that weren't that bad.

A voice from behind him startled him, "Zachariah sir. We have news sir. Good news."

"Yes?" he said, pouring out another measure of whiskey.

"It's the woman sir. Miriana Westchild. She seems to have...misplaced her protection."

Zachariah gave a satisfied smile, "So the plan worked then?"

"Yes. Our human agent managed to take the hex bag from her pocket. She didn't even see him; apparently she was too preoccupied with her bottle of wine."

"Excellent," Zachariah said, taking a long swig, "You know what to do."

The two angels exchanged a glance, and then turned to leave.

"Just one thing," he called, stopping them in their tracks, "Don't kill her. It will only make him completely unresponsive. Just knock her around a bit, so she really gets the message.

He paused for a second, then thought of something else, "Oh, and make you sure you take something from her. You know Castiel will want proof we're not lying."

"Of course sir," they chorused in monotone, sweeping through the door.

When they left, he leaned back into the seat and allowed himself a wide smile, picturing the look on Castiel's face when he realised they'd bruised his little slut, how quickly he'd give in. It was even more satisfying when he thought how pissed the Winchesters would be when they saw her battered body, especially Dean. Anything to knock that surly, supercilious attitude out of him and his hulking idiot of a brother. It seemed the night was going better than he could have imagined.


	59. Given Up

_Hey, hope you all enjoy this chapter, and a huge, massive thanks as always to anyone who's left a review :) Good luck to anyone who is also undergoing the horror that is AS levels (God I hate exams.) And on another note, how friggin' hot is it in England at the moment! (Well it is in Preston, anyway) I'm practically wilting in the heat! I think I'm a vampire; I can't take the sunlight. Anyhoo, enough from me. Hope you enjoy! :)_

The fear of what might be chasing her had effectively removed any traces of any alcohol fuzziness in her brain, and she found that driving was considerably easier than she thought, especially on the quiet roads she stuck to. She glanced at the clock; it was nearly midnight. She felt like she'd been awake for days.

She was startled from the silence by the shrill sound of her phone. She pulled into the almost empty parking lot of a gas station, grabbing her phone from the seat, checking the caller ID.

"Dean?" she said, surprised by the raspy her voice was.

"Where the hell are you, Miriana?" Dean demanded.

She winced at the anger in his tone, "Uh...to be honest, I don't really know. I just sort of drove until I came to a bar, and now I'm on this back road...somewhere."

The anger changed to concern in a second, "What are you playing at? Drinking and driving? Wandering off down back roads?"

"Oh untwist your boxers for God's sake, Dean, you're always doing it," she snapped, rubbing her temples. She didn't have time for this. The longer she stayed in one place, especially one so isolated, the easier it would be for them to find her.

"Why did you ring me?"

Dean heaved a heavy sigh, "It's Jimmy. He's disappeared."

Miriana waited for him to tell her something else, the real problem. But she was met with silence.

"And?" she prompted.

"What do you mean, and?" Dean said incredulously, "What if the demons get him?"

"Why would they want him?" she asked, scuffing her boots into the dusty gravel.

"Uh-maybe because he's a vessel, and they're gonna do anything to get one over on the angels?"

"Look this isn't my problem," she said indignantly, "Why can't you just leave me out of it. And Jimmy. He has his own life to get back to. Can't you just leave him to it?"

There was a long silence on the other end of the phone before Dean spoke, "What about Cas? Jimmy's his vessel. What if he can't come back without him?"

Miriana swallowed hard, "I guess that's just the way it is."

Dean's voice went very quiet, "Don't you care about him? Don't you want him back?"

Miriana let out a bitter laugh, "Wasn't it you who told me to stop hounding after him like a 'drunken hooker'. That he was bad for me, the worst choice I could make?"

"I-" Dean began.

"Well, it looks like you were right, Dean. You must be so happy."

"Look Miriana-"

"Goodbye Dean," she said coldly, disconnecting the call. She threw her phone into the passenger seat and leaned against her car door, studying the star strewn sky. She did care about Cas, immensely, and though she would never admit it to Dean, she was terrified for him. She didn't know what she would do if he never came back. It was only through his absence that she realized just how much she loved him, how much she missed him and needed his presence around her.

She was aware of someone walking up beside her car; she saw their shiny black shoes appear in her peripheral vision.

"Excuse me ma'am?"

She looked up to see two men, oddly dressed in immaculate black suits and crisp white shirts, both of them with wide smiles plastered across their faces. She felt an odd sense of foreboding when she looked into their eyes, a jolt of fear in her spine that she couldn't place.

"Yes?" she said hesitantly.

"Are you Miss Miriana Westchild?" he asked, his voice still honeyed.

"Yes," she said warily, her eyes flicking uneasily between the two men.

"Excellent," the taller of the two said, pulling his arm back and crashing his fist into the side of her face.

She was so shocked she didn't even register the pain or the taste as blood blossomed inside her mouth, just staggered against the side of her car, clutching the side of her face. The smiles were still stretched across their faces, but now it was more like a grimace. It took her a while for her brain to catch up.

"Angels," she whispered through her mouthful of blood.

"Damn straight."

He drove his fist into her stomach, hard enough to force all the breath from her lungs and send her crashing to her knees, staining her jeans with the coarse dust of the gravel underneath her. She coughed up a thick clot of blood, wincing as it rushed up her throat like bile, rushing over her bottom lip, which she suddenly realised was split badly, the skin cracked and torn. The angel grabbed a fistful of her short dark hair, wrenching her to her feet savagely so she screamed out in pain as he threatened to tear each strand from her scalp.

"A little message from Zachariah," he spat, giving her hair another vicious tug, "Keep away from Castiel, or we'll tear you apart, bit by bit."

He threw her as hard as he could, and she flew back against the bonnet of her car, smashing through the windscreen, feeling jagged edges of the glass ripping through her clothes and shredding the skin of her back, hot blood staining through the fabric. The car alarm began to wail loudly, but neither of the angels did anything to stop it. Clearly they didn't care about being caught. Before she could try and struggle to her feet the angel seized her again, dragging her from the bonnet of her car, leaving a trail of thick dark blood down the black paintwork. He punched her again and again and again, bruising her cheekbones and chest and stomach, damaging muscles and threatening to tear through tendons. She couldn't even scream her mouth and throat were so full of viscous blood; it came out as nothing but a gurgle. He pinned her against the side of her car, his hand closing like a vice around her throat, squeezing so hard she swore she could feel her windpipe begging to collapse under the pressure. White stars danced before her eyes, and her brain and lungs began to scream out from the lack of oxygen. She scrabbled at his hands as they crushed her throat but it was like trying to break through steel; completely useless and futile. The car park began to waver in front of her, a line of black beginning to creep in around the edges of her vision.

The other angel stepped forwards, placing a hand on the others arm.

"Enough, Tariel," he said in a deep voice that didn't match the young face of his vessel, "She is to be left alive, remember."

Tariel hesitated for a second, his cold eyes locked on Miriana's. Then finally he released her, and she slumped against her car, retching and gasping air back into her raw throat, her eyes streaming with burning tears. He stepped back, and she thought he would at last leave her alone; but it seemed he thought a little bit more pain was a good idea. Once more, he fisted his hand in her hair and slammed her skull against the frame of the car and dropped her to the rough gravel, leaving her heaving and choking, curled in a ball on the floor.

The pain was intense, so powerful she could feel herself teetering on the edge of unconsciousness, the scream of her car alarm a painful aural assault that threatening to split her head in two. She prayed that they would leave her alone, now that they had thoroughly taught her a lesson. She couldn't lift her head to see where they were, but she heard the crunch of stones scraping over stones as the other angel leaned down, reaching for her neck. She cringed again, convinced he would hurt her, but he only reached down and gripped the fine chain of her silver pentagram necklace, snapping the metal links and removing it from her neck, surprisingly gently. She heard them talking in quiet voices, but she couldn't make sense of the words over the noise of the car alarm. She was about to slip away into blackness before she felt Tariel drive the sharp toe of his perfectly polished shoes into her stomach, splintering two of her ribs with the hard kick.

"Tariel!" she heard the other angel reprimand.

She could just make out the shadow of Tariels' figure as he leaned down next to her.

"He's rotting in prison because of you," he hissed into her ear, "You've corrupted a soldier of God, you little whore. You deserve everything you get."

She felt the slightest breeze brush over her battered skin and the faint sound of feathers brushing against each other. Thankful they were finally gone, she curled herself into a tight ball, desperately trying to numb the stabbing pain. Somewhere in the back of her pain addled brain, she wondered if anyone would find her, curled up on the cold floor in the far distant corner of an almost deserted car park of a gas station on some old, backwoods route. Maybe she'd just lie here until her lungs drowned and she choked to death on her own blood. She tried to get up and crawl over to the door until she found her phone, but her few weak attempts were pointless, and she slumped back, exhausted on the uncomfortable gravel. She lay on her side, staring underneath her car, the alarm of which was still keening at a painful frequency, although it seemed oddly muted in her ears. Her breathing was heavy and painful; each drag of air into her lungs burned down her throat and wheezed in her aching chest. With every minimal movement of her chest, her broken ribs screamed in protest and her head throbbed.

She had never thought her punishment for falling in love with an angel would be so terribly severe. She briefly wondered where God was in all this, why he allowed such things to happen. She had always been told by zealous preachers and doddery old priests that God loved everyone, cared for his children. If he loved his children so much, why would he allow her to be disciplined so pitilessly for loving one of his sons? But then she remembered that this was shy she didn't believe in God. Why she never had, for everything single ounce of pain that had been inflicted on her and those she loved.

She tried to keep a grip on reality, but she began to slip away into blackness, thankful that something came to eradicate the pain.

Zachariah hadn't been near his cell for hours. Castiel kept waiting for the groan of iron as the heavy door of his cell swung open, revealing Zachariah on the other side, ready with some new form of torture. But it didn't come. He'd been left alone for so long that the pain had started to recede considerably, and his wounds were slowly beginning to heal. His head felt clearer, for the first time in days. But with the lack of pain that clouded his head was replaced by a terrible ache of anxiety in his chest. He couldn't help but wonder what Zachariah was doing if he had decided to leave Castiel alone. Maybe he had grown sick of trying to find Miriana and gone for her family instead. He should have protected them before he had left, but all he could think about was Miriana and her safety. He just prayed Embriel was protecting her somehow.

He found his muscles and tendons had begun to knit back together, fibres and nerves healing and bringing back unhindered movement back to his body. Even his desecrated wings were feeling better, the long fine feathers grown back into place and the bones moulding back together, although some had been deliberately left to heal in the incorrect position, which made him wince every time he moved. He sat up against the wall, leaning back against the cool stone which soothed the itching skin of his back as the torn muscles and skin were restored. He closed his eyes and focused on Miriana, wondering if he would see her again. He conjured up the exquisite taste of her mouth and the warm colour of her chocolate eyes, hoping that he might see them again, get to hold her again. Would she know him if he wasn't in Jimmy? Or would he find out she was only in love with the way Jimmy looked and not with him?

The door banged back, jerking him from his reverie to find Zachariah stood framed in the light, flanked on either side by the two angels that had been with him all week. He noticed that the taller of the two of angels had blood on his sleeve and a long vivid streak of crimson down his white shirt. The sight of it made his stomach churn, for some unknown reason.

"Castiel," Zachariah said, and he couldn't help but hear the smug note in his tone, "Feeling better are we?"

He didn't answer, but straightened his back and lifted his chin.

"Well, I'm pretty tired of dirtying my suits with your blood," Zachariah said in a bored voice, inspecting his fingernails, "But now I think we have a good bargaining chip to make you do as you're told."

He flung something towards him, a flash of silver that whipped through the air. He caught it in his hand, closing his fist around the cool object. He uncurled his fingers to find a silver pentagram resting in the palm of his hand, the slender chain draped over his fingers. He felt the slightest touch of something damp, and when he turned the necklace over in his hands he found it was slick with blood.

"What is this?" he asked, his voice still a little raspy.

"Think hard, Castiel. I'm sure it will come to you."

He thought for a few seconds, before the truth hit him around with the force of a fist colliding with his face. He knew perfectly well were he'd seen that necklace before. It hung around Miriana's slim neck much of the time; he'd seen it resting against the white, soft skin of her chest. He stared, horrified at the dark, wet blood that stained his fingertips.

"What have you done?" he choked out.

"Nothing she won't recover from," the tall angel said, a cold smirk turning up the corner of his lips, "Yet."

"Where-where is she?" he whispered, his whole body shaking.

The angel shrugged, "Some back road, half drowned in her own blood. I'm sure someone will stumble across her eventually."

The memory of his nightmare flashed through his head, Miriana lying dead, her eyes blank and her body broken. _Please Father,_ he prayed silently, _please let her be alive._

"You see, Castiel," Zachariah began in a diplomatic voice, "I have a feeling your lovely friend Embriel will be searching all over America for her, and she'll find her, I'm sure. She'll go to hospital, and she'll survive. You'll return to your vessel and you _will_ carry out our work to begin the apocalypse, whether you agree with it or not."

He closed his fingers around Miriana's necklace, "And if I don't?"

Zachariah shrugged, "You'd be surprised how fragile the human body is. It'd be so easy for one of us to just slip a few choice chemicals in her veins in hospital, or just stop her heart. I assume the doctors will think she's had a cardiac arrest. Such an unexpected tragedy for one so young, don't you think?"

He didn't even think when he spoke, "Fine. I'll do anything. I'll do it. I'll obey."

Zachariah raised his eyebrows, "Really? I didn't expect you to make your mind up so quickly."

"Zachariah," he said meeting his superior square in the eyes, "Please. Leave her alone. I swear to my Father that I will do whatever you tell me. Just please, leave her alone. Let her live."

He observed him for a long second, his cold blue eyes thoughtful, "Very well. Release him."

He nodded at the two angels that flanked him, who stepped forwards, reaching for the cuffs that bound him to the wall of the cell.

"Of course, we have a few conditions," Zachariah said conversationally.

"Anything."

"You are not to tell the Winchesters anything about our plan unless I tell you to; you will let them play the parts that destiny has set out for them. You won't help them, or guide them in any way."

"Yes."

"And for Miss Westchild," he continued, spitting her name out with venom, "You will not contact her. You won't talk to her. To all intents and purposes she is dead to you."

He felt his heart crack down the middle, splitting into two halves, "Of course."

The angels pulled him to his feet, stepping back behind Zachariah.

"We have a little problem, it seems," Zachariah said, sounding completely unconcerned, "Your vessel, Jimmy Novak. It appears he's dying."

His already broken heart splintered a little further. He had grown fond of Jimmy. It was inevitable really, when he had lived inside of his head for almost a year. He didn't deserve to die; he had never deserved to get caught up in the war in the first place.

"You can't take him over in that state. But, no worries," Zachariah said calmly, "His bloodline flows through his daughter. It's not ideal, but I'm sure you should find her acceptable as a vessel."

"I...I can't do that," he stumbled over the words, "I can't take his daughter."

Zachariah eyes flashed dangerously, glinting like steel, "You just told us you'd do anything we told you to do. Have you forgotten the position Miriana is in? Just how fragile she is at present?"

He swallowed all of his fear, "Of course, sir. I'm sorry."

"You might want to hurry up," Zachariah informed him, "It seems the demons that have the Novak family are planning on killing them all."

He found the young mind of Claire Novak, alone and frightened, crying out inside her mind for someone to help her mum and dad. He resisted the overwhelming urge to cast his mind out further and look for Miriana, to discover if she was still breathing or not. But he refrained; he didn't dare try anything in front of Zachariah.

_Claire,_ he said tentatively, _Claire Novak._

_Who are you? I don't understand,_ her voice was tiny and frightened, and she sounded so delicate.

_I'm an angel, Claire. I can help you, _he said, in as controlled a voice as he could manage, _I can help your mother and father. But you have to do something for me. _

_O- Okay?_

_I need you to say yes to me. I need you to let me into your head._

_I don't want to, _she whimpered, _I want my dad back._

_I know,_ he said, fighting to keep the tension out of his voice, _and I can help you. If you just say yes._

_How long do you have to take my mind for?_ She asked, her voice shaking.

_Not long, _he said hating himself for the lie. All he could hope was that her mind would be so weak and underdeveloped she'd slip under and not resurface.

_Alright. Yes. Just promise to bring my daddy back._

How could he possess someone so innocent, with a whole life in front of her? When Miriana found out she would hate him for it. If Miriana was in a fit state to find out.

_I promise._

He opened his eyes to find Zachariah watching him expectantly.

"She says yes," he told him.

Zachariah shrugged his wide shoulders, "Then what are you waiting for? Go."

The next thing he knew he was rushing towards the earth at a intense speed, burning through ozone and clouds, the water vapour in the upper atmosphere sizzling away, plummeting straight towards the dilapidated warehouse where Claire was slumped, unconsciousness and bound to a chair with thick ropes. He felt Claire's mind slide away, and he opened her eyes to see the warehouse before him.

_I'm so sorry, Claire,_ he thought, praying she could hear him.

Embriel was panicking for the first time in well over two hundred. She knew Miriana was no longer protected, and there was no way she could get to Castiel. The garrison prison was the most highly guarded place in all of heavens halls. There was no way to help him, especially not since Zachariah knew perfectly well how much she had helped him throughout his life. It was a miracle she hadn't been clapped in irons too.

She was surprised by how fond she had grown of Miriana. At first, she had merely sheltered her for Castiels' sake, because she loved him like a son and hated the look she saw on his face whenever the woman he was falling for fell into danger. But after a little while, she had found she could all the reasons why Castiel was so enamoured with her; she could see past the occasional flashes of recklessness and tempestuousness and saw the tenderness and love underneath. She worked every charm and spell she knew to keep the two of them hidden from heaven's ever watchful eyes whenever they were together, although it drained her every time she did. She didn't mind the sacrifice, if it made them happy to steal a few precious moments together. But know she knew it was hopeless; there was no way she could keep them hidden now that the truth was out in the open. She would have to watch his heart break, piece by piece, thanks to Zachariah's tyrannical rule. All she could hope was that she could find Miriana, wherever she was.

Twisting her long slim hands together, she cast her mind out until she found the familiar coil of consciousness that belonged to Miriana. She followed it, across state lines and roads and cities, finally coming to rest outside an empty gas station, the only light emanating from the pale clear moon and the dim back up lighting inside the store. She folded her huge wings behind her back, aware suddenly of the keening of a car alarm. She glanced across at the only car, intending to silence the irritating noise, when she noticed the figure curled up on the gravel. She ran across the car park, the uneven gravel digging through the thin rubber soles of her vessels plimsolls, crouching down next to the supine figure. Cursing when she saw the familiar dark hair, she carefully turned the figure over, wincing when she saw the thick dark, congealed blood that pooled around her head, stemming from a deep, ugly cut across her forehead. She carefully skimmed over her bruised face and ribs, counting the injuries, cataloguing them. Two black eyes, a raw throat, two broken ribs and another rib cracked; too many bruises and cuts to count. It would kill Castiel if he saw her like this, beaten to a bloody pulp. Laying her hand across Miriana's forehead, she poured as much of her grace inside her as she could manage, trying to at least give her some comfort and prevent the permanent scarring. She concentrated on the sensation of muscles, tendons and skin knitting together underneath her hands, releasing the stream of energy with a gasp when she began to feel light headed.

She stirred, groaning and coughing around her mouthful of coppery blood, her eyes squeezed tightly shut.

"Ssshhh, sweetheart," Embriel soothed, "Just lie still."

She continued to tremble, letting out a cry of pain when she moved to far and agitated her broken body. Lightly, so as not to hurt her further, Embriel touched two fingers to her head and she drifted off into unconsciousness again.

Cautiously, she lifted Miriana's slight frame into her arms, lifting her slim around her shoulders, sliding her hands underneath her knees, not bothered about the blood that blotted across her pale camisole and shirt underneath. The nearest hospital was miles away, but she was there in the space of a few seconds, coming to rest in a copse of trees in the hospital grounds so as not to frighten anyone or raise any curious questions. She moved towards the entrance, stepping into the light, watching the people around her turn incredulous faces to her gently cradling Miriana.

"Please," she called, "Someone help her."


	60. It's a Heartache

_I don't quite know how I got this chapter out, but I guess being OCD with time management and not needing much sleep pays off! I knew my obsessiveness had its benefits! :) Plus writing de-stresses me and I only have one exam this week, and I'm not drowning in revision as I started ridiculously early in the year, so its all good! I hope I'm not putting anyone off revision, I apologize, don't hurt me (cowers in the corner) Anyhoo, a huge thanks and cuddles for anyone who's left a review, your comments make my day! I hope you like this chapter, and I hope I didn't make too many mistakes, bear in mind it was written at three o'clock in the morning! :) Enjoy! :)_

When Miriana first began to come around, she was certain was dead. She convinced herself that she had died back in that car park, that she had drowned in her own blood, that she was in heaven. No, she couldn't be in heaven; she couldn't imagine the angels would want to let her through the pearly gates after everything that had happened between her and Castiel. At least it didn't feel like she was in hell, there was no licking flames and the screaming of tortured souls. Maybe she was in limbo, trapped in between the two.

At first, she couldn't feel anything, but then full awareness began to creep back in slowly, seeping through her bones and muscles, igniting a trail of pain. Her ribs were aching and breathing was difficult; every time she inhaled her abdomen felt constricted, like her muscles were pulled too tight across her bones. Her head throbbed, and she was suddenly and violently aware of every single bruise, cut and scrape that had been inflicted upon her. She could feel the hard, cold press of plastic wires snaking around her body and the light press of a tube underneath her nose. There was no way death was this painful and uncomfortable.

Smell was the next sense to return. There was the harsh, lingering scent of bleach and disinfectant, and when her hearing came back, she was aware of a steady, constant bleeping. A monitor. She was in hospital. Alive and in hospital; not in the morgue. She lay completely still, not wanting to feel the ripping pain every time she moved. She wondered how long she had been unconscious. If the fuzziness in her head was anything to go by, a day at least.

She heard the sound of the door banging back against the wall and the sound of two voices chatting away. She concentrated hard on what they were saying, listening intently.

"...She's in a real state this one," Miriana heard a wavering female voice say.

"Tell me about it," conceded a male voice from the end of her bed.

"What happened to the poor girl?" the woman asked.

The male voice, who she assumed to be the doctor sighed heavily, "Well, the woman that brought her in, remember?"

"Oh yes, of course," said the woman, "She carried her into the emergency room. Sure is strong for someone so slight."

She couldn't imagine her aunt would have the strength to carry her from the car to the hospital, and besides, she would have just rung an ambulance. It had to have been Embriel. She felt oddly touched that the angel had gone to such lengths to save her life. She only hoped that she wouldn't face the same consequences as Castiel for her care.

"Yeah, well anyway," the doctor continued, "She said she'd run into some trouble with an abusive ex-boyfriend. Something to do with him being jealous about a new partner she had."

The woman tutted, "That's terrible. I hope they catch him; I hate seeing the victims of domestic violence."

"I don't buy it," said the doctor.

The woman's voice spoke very close to her head; she felt a few of the plastic wires tug against her skin as the nurse adjusted the machine, "What do you mean?"

"Well, it's the sheer extent of her injuries," the doctor explained, "I mean, she'll recover fairly quickly, but only because the woman that brought her in acted so quickly and dealt with some of her wounds. He must be an absolute mammoth of a man and strong as hell; her skull was nearly cracked into two, her ribs are broken, her throat has been almost crushed, she's covered in more bruises and cuts than I can count, and he threw he threw her through a car windscreen. Absolutely shredded her back."

Wow. She hadn't realised quite how much of a beating the angels had given her. It made her feel quite proud of herself and her body's hardiness that she had even survived. Then she suddenly thought of the damage to her Mercedes and swore loudly and colourfully in her head.

"Poor woman!" the nurse exclaimed.

"If I didn't know better," the doctor said in an almost conspiratorial tone, "I'd have said she was involved in a hit and run."

She felt the nurses lined hand brush across her forehead, "Really?"

"Yeah, but the injuries aren't in the right places you know? Too concentrated to the abdomen and face. Like I said, must be a monster of a man."

Miriana decided now might be a good time to open her eyes. The pale ceiling came into focus, followed a second later by the nurses kindly face hovering over her.

"Are you alright dear?" the woman asked, glancing across at her monitor, "How are we feeling?"

Miriana tried to say something, but when she took a breath to draw air into her lungs, she choked as it burned down her raw throat. Hot tears leaked from the corners of her eyes and streamed down the side of her face. Brows furrowing, the nurse reached for the table next to the bed and pulled free a few tissues, gently wiping away the salty trail.

"Alright honey, don't try and speak," the nurse soothed, "We'll get you some water for that throat."

The doctor came into view then, a handsome, dark haired man with high cheekbones and clear blue eyes that reminded her with a painful jolt of Castiel.

"Miss Westchild," he said, smiling, "We're going to sort you out, okay? No worries." He glanced at the bags of drugs hanging next to her bed, "Do you need some more pain meds?"

She didn't try to speak again, just nodded weakly. Anything to take away the razor sharp edge every time she moved.

"No worries," the doctor said again, gesturing to the nurse, "I'll be back in a little while. Even though I'd love to spend a little longer here, I have other patients to see."

He tipped her a wink, which made her feel a lot better. She needed some kindness, even if it was from a total stranger. The door banged back and she heard the doctor talking to someone outside the door, before she heard a familiar voice snap,

"Listen doc, I don't give a rat's ass! I wanna see her!"

The door slammed back against the wall again and Miriana managed to shift herself enough to see Nate's lanky, dark haired figure, followed by a much shorter person with a long sweep of silver streaked hair. She had never been so grateful to see them in her life.

"Err- you can't be in here," the nurse reprimanded, stepping in front of Miriana's bed, almost shielding her, "She's not fit."

"Please," Miriana managed to choke out, "Please, I want to see them."

The nurse relented, somewhat reluctantly, and left the room as Nate and her Aunt hovered next to her bed, her aunt on the verge of tears, Nate looking furious.

"Oh sweetie," her aunt gasped, her hands flitting over her battered body, finally coming to rest on the part of her that remained mostly undamaged, her left arm, patting it gently.

Nate's face was contorted with fury as his eyes travelled over her, "Who the hell did this?" he asked, his voice deadly quiet. It was unusual to see such an expression on his young face, which usually had a wide smile plastered across it.

"Nate," she croaked, "P-please, just leave it."

"It was angels, wasn't it? Huh? I've been filled on exactly what angels think of a woman going after one their own."

She cast her aunt a furious look, and she had the good grace to look slightly sheepish. She didn't want of either of them involved in anything to do with heaven. Especially not Nate. He was too young.

"Nate honey, just leave it," Eve said, tugging at his arm, sensing Miriana's distress, "Alright, let's leave it."

"No!" he yelled, loud enough to make the nurse at the station look up from her desk with a frown across her face, "No, I won't leave it! Look at the state of her! Who does that to a woman, huh?" he said, gesturing at Miriana's figure, "Those bastards beat the crap out of her! And why? Because she liked one of their soldiers, so what? What the hell is wrong with that?"

"Nate-" Eve began, but he continued his furious tirade.

"And where the hell is your angel now, huh? The coward doesn't even have the guts to come and see you, after he got you put in here! If I run into that bastard-"

"Nate, stop!" Eve demanded, her voice taking on a hard edge, "Can't you see you're upsetting her?"

She had tried to speak through his rant, but she found her cracked voice wasn't loud enough to be heard over his. She felt tears pricking at the back of her eyes.

"I don't care," he continued, his voice growing in volume, "She needs to hear this."

He turned to her, bending closer over her bed, "You need to hear this. This is his fault, and you know it. How could he have let this happen to you?"

She squeezed her eyes tight shut, "He didn't have a choice."

"Yeah, he did," Nate snapped, "If he loves you like you reckon he does, he would have helped you."

"It was my fault," she whispered, wincing as her throat stung in response, "All me."

At this her aunt stood up, taking her hand, carefully avoiding the IV wire that was embedded in the back of it, "This is not your fault, Miriana. Not in any way. Don't think that for one second, okay?"

"But it is," she rasped, feeling the tears overflow.

"This is bullshit," Nate growled, "None of this is your fault. It's them," he pointed a trembling finger at the ceiling, "And they're gonna pay for it, and so is Castiel."

"No!" she said, stretching her damaged voice to the limit of its volume, closing her hand over Nate's, "Don't. They're not like demons; you can't even begin to fight them. They'll kill you without lifting a finger. Nate promise me you'll leave it, promise me."

He shook his head, his dark eyes blazing, "I'm not going to promise you anything."

The tears started flowing a little faster, coursing down her cheeks in hot streams. She couldn't let Nate get caught in the cross fires of this; she was not going to let someone else get hurt because of her stupidity.

They all jumped when the door went flying back and the nurse stepped in, taking in Miriana as she hastily wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, wincing as the movement aggravated her wounds.

"Right!" she barked, "That is it! Out! You're upsetting her, and she needs rest, not this grief." She grabbed hold of Nate by his collar, "Out!"

Both Nate and Eve cast her one last look, Nate still looking blisteringly angry as they were shepherded out of the door. Shaking her head, the nurse swept over to her bedside with a vial of chemicals.

"They shouldn't be upsetting you, not in this state," she muttered, steadily dripping the chemicals into the bag.

"More pain meds, honey," the nurse said in a far sweeter tone, "It'll knock you for six, I'm afraid, but you need the rest. Your body will heal much quicker."

The nurse bustled back out of the room, leaving Miriana alone. She cried harder now she was alone, yearning so badly for things to be the way they were before her relationship with Castiel had been discovered. She wanted the shelter and comfort of his arms, but they wouldn't help her. Not now. She fought the wave of blackness that threatened to overcome her, but eventually she allowed herself to slip into an uncomfortable unconsciousness.

He knew which hospital Miriana was in. He knew the floor and the room number. But he didn't have the courage to face her, or the strength to see her in the state she was likely to be in. He felt certain it would destroy what was left of his heart to see her broken, all because of him.

Jimmy had been completely silent since Castiel had repossessed his body just a day ago. Usually he would awken to mutter something at him, like the first time he had met Miriana and he had ordered him to take her somewhere away from the freezing rain. He tried to speak to him, to apologize for the way in which he had completely ruined his life and almost stolen the life of his daughter, but either he couldn't hear or was choosing to ignore him altogether. He felt oddly alone, and wracked with guilt. The emotions that raged through him were hard and complicated and they physically hurt, so he did what he had been so used to doing when he had first come to earth, before he had fallen so completely in love with Miriana. He buried them all underneath a cold facade, and he carried out his duties unquestioningly and efficiently, glad he had something to distract him. It was easier than dwelling over them.

He had seen Sam Winchester back in the warehouse, through Claire Novak's eyes, watched him bury his face in the crook of that demons neck, swallowing down great draughts of dark demon blood as it gushed from her throat. He didn't know what to make of it, and his superiors hadn't told him anything about it, as was usual. He would have expected them to call Sam an abomination and order him to be instantly eradicated for his depraved actions. But on the contrary, they demanded he be kept safe. His head hurt trying to think about what it meant, although he suspected it had something to do with allowing the apocalypse to happen. He tried not to think about it.

He wondered what Dean was thinking after discovering exactly what his younger brother had been up to. He wanted to help him, but he had his order not to make things easy for the Winchesters, not to interfere. He could only imagine what the revelation must be doing to the already damaged, splintered mind of the battered young man he had yanked from the darkest corner of hell. But he daren't go near either of the Winchesters, no matter the sate they were in.

He released the last demon of the coven, allowing the damaged body of his host to slump to the floor, dead. He cast his weary eyes around the bodies that lay across the floor, their blank eyes staring at the ceiling of the old house the demons had been using as a base. He collapsed heavily into the nearest chair, rubbing a hand across his forehead. His shoulders felt heavy, as if the guilt and pain he carried had become a physical weight that rested against him, threatening to drag him down somewhere he wouldn't get back up from. His body still felt sore; he had always found being encased inside a vessel restricting, confining and unnatural, but his damaged body and ravaged wings that were forced inside Jimmy's body made his discomfort far worse. He rolled his shoulder blades, trying to alleviate the pain.

It was while he sat at the dusty table, tracing the patterns of the wood with his fingertips, that he made the decision to see her. He had to, just once. Just a brief glimpse, to see if she was healing. To prepare himself in case he ran into her whilst she was with the Winchesters. He stretched his wings, wincing as they throbbed in protest, the still raw muscles and nerves flaring with white hot pain. In the space of a heartbeat, he found himself in the corridor that led to her room. They could be watching him right now, he knew, but he'd uttered a quick charm Embriel had taught him, just to keep him out of their minds, just for a little while. He moved noiselessly down the quiet corridor to the dimly lit ward off which her room lay. There was little activity; it seemed the hospital was winding down for the day, or at least this part of it was.

He froze at the door to her room, staring transfixed at the door. He had expected her family to be here, but the chairs outside the room were unoccupied. With a trembling hand, he reached out for the door handle, carefully pushing the door inwards into the room. There was no sound but the constant, steady bleeping of the heart monitor she was hooked to and the rasp of her breathing, the breath rattling around her damaged chest. There was a light on next to her bed, and it was only when he stepped out of the pools of shadow that he saw the state of her.

Somehow he managed to keep moving across the tiles towards her bed, the sight hitting him around the face. Both of her eyes were black, and the ugly bruise extended down from her eye to her cheekbone. The perfect full lips that he had kissed so often, although still not enough times, that he had tasted underneath his own were split and swollen, beaten red raw. His eyes travelled across her face up to her forehead, noting the deep gash, held together with vicious looking stitches, right up to her hairline. He could see beneath the thin hospital gown that her ribs were taped up, and the bruising snaked a dark, blue black path up to her collarbone and down over her slim shoulders. He saw the red marks that circled her throat, remnants of where Tariel had tried to choke all the life and vitality out of her. He tried to feel anger, but it was lost in a wave of sorrow and guilt. The fury would come later, when he was alone. There was an odd prickling behind his eyes that made moisture spring up in them and threaten to overflow. With a shaking hand he reached out and brushed his fingertips against her forehead, careful to avoid the cuts and scrapes. He couldn't understand how they could have beaten her so savagely and mercilessly, especially when she was so defenceless. His brothers were far crueller than he could have imagined. He wondered if she had begged them to stop; he could practically hear her voice in his head, her raw, desperate screams of agony around a mouthful of blood. It made him feel sick and set his stomach churning; someone like Miriana, someone so beautiful and kind shouldn't be made to suffer like this. He would have gladly endured another week in that prison if it had meant saving her from this pitiless punishment. _Father, _he asked desperately, _why did you let this happen?_

He leaned a little closer to her sleeping body, noting all the wires that snaked in and out of her frail body, the tube underneath her nose and the long needle that was buried in the pale skin of her hand. He had never seen her so delicate, so completely shattered. Not even Reuben had done this to her. But then, he had been there to save her that time. Her brows furrowed in her sleep, and she whimpered, tossing weakly back and forth across the pillows. It wasn't right; whenever she had nightmares, he should be there to comfort her, to cradle her in his arms and kiss away the fear. But now he couldn't even touch her, for fear it would hurt her even more. Everything about this felt completely wrong, as if the entire universe was skewed off its normal angle. She should be with him; he should have had the strength to carry out his duty to her and protect her.

"I'm so sorry, Miriana," he choked out in a whisper, "I'm so, so sorry, my love."

She stirred a little in her sleep, moving her face towards his hand where it lay on her pillow, millimetres away from her skin.

He jumped a mile out of his skin when the door flew open and Embriel stalked through, a furious expression painted across her face. He stepped back from her bedside, feeling gratitude flood through him at the sight of Embriel; after all she had saved Miriana's life when he hadn't been there to do it.

"Embriel," he began gratefully, "Thank you so much, you saved her-"

"What in the name of heaven are you doing here?" she hissed, grabbing his arm in a surprisingly strong grip and pulling him towards the door.

"I needed to see her," he said, dropping his voice so as not to wake her, "I just wanted to see her."

Embriel stopped yanking at his arm and a sad look crossed her features, "You don't need to see her like this, Castiel. It's only going to hurt you more."

"Look at her Embriel," he said, surprised to find his voice break, "How-how could they hurt her like that?"

She gently brushed his cheek, her ancient eyes saturated with pain, "I know."

"I love her," he confessed in a whisper.

The sorrow in her eyes deepened, "I know," she said again. She pulled him towards the door, more gently this time, and he followed her obediently, unable to bring himself to look at her broken body one more time.

He froze on the spot when he stepped through the door and saw Nate staring at him, the fury evident across his features. He was clutching an empty cup of coffee in his hands so tightly he crushed it into a pulp, and his dark eyes that were so much like Miriana's were fixed on Castiel, unblinking.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he spat, "Just what the hell do you think you're doing here?"

"Nate," Eve said warningly, but he ignored her.

"You bastard," he said, his voice dangerously low, "Where the hell were you when they tried to beat the life out of her?"

"I know," he said, his voice low, "I'm sorry. You can't comprehend how sorry I am. I'd do anything to take the pain away from her, anything."

"Too late," Nate snarled, taking a threatening step forward.

"I'm sorry," he choked out again. He didn't know what else to say.

In a surprisingly swift movement, Nate leapt forwards and grabbed hold of the lapels of his trench coat, slamming him back against the wall. He could have easily stopped him, but he let the teenager take out all his grief and anger on him, almost welcoming it. He knew Nate wasn't strong enough to hurt him, but he wished he was; he wanted to be punished by someone, anyone. He let himself go limp, although his soldier's instinct told him to fight back. He didn't even flinch when Nate raised his fist, but Embriel stepped forwards and easily caught his upraised fist in her hands. She knew it would hurt Nate more than it would hurt Castiel, and she didn't think he needed to be made any angrier.

"Nate, go outside and cool down," Embriel commanded quietly, whilst Nate struggled against her iron strength, "Now."

Eve rushed over, tears in her eyes, and pulled Nate towards the door, an arm across his shoulders. He shrugged it off and stormed through the door, Eve close on his heels. Castiel slumped against the wall, exhausted. Embriel watched him carefully, as though frightened he would do something reckless.

"What do I do?" he asked in a monotone.

Embriel sighed heavily, "I can't tell you."

"They hate me," he said, "And so will she. She's never going to look at me again."

At that moment Eve returned to the room, looking slightly apprehensively at the angels.

"Embriel," she said tentatively, "Could I have a word with Castiel alone please?"

Embriel shot him an unreadable look, "Of course. I'll go and see to Nate."

She swept out, leaving Castiel alone with Eve. He'd never spoken to the woman before, and he found it difficult to look into her face when she reminded him of Miriana so strongly. They even had similar facial expressions. She stepped a little closer to him, looking him right in the eyes, which he had noticed few people did, aside from Dean and Miriana.

"Listen, Castiel," she began, "I'm sorry about Nate; he gets a little heated sometimes."

Castiel shook his head, "He has every right to be angry. It's no more than I deserve."

"Perhaps," she mused, "I'm not going to scream and shout at you. Unlike Nate, I'm far older and I have a much better handle over my emotions."

He didn't think he was going to like what was coming from the tone of her voice.

"I'm going to be far more diplomatic about things, but I'm going to tell Miriana and now I'm telling you. Stay away from my niece."

He gave a slight nod of his head, not trusting himself to speak. She looked alarmingly like Miriana when she was angry.

She regarded him with cool, dark eyes, "She tells me she loves you, and I don't doubt that you feel something for her. But we both know you are not good for her, and I can't watch her get hurt. Not again, not after everything that happened with Cristian."

"I understand," he said. It hurt all the more to know she had confessed to someone that she was in love with him. If only he had had the bravery to tell her how he was feeling.

"Do you really?" she questioned. He was finding she was quite formidable when she was angry.

"Yes."

"Good," she continued, "Then you know why I am asking you to do this. You know you can't give her the comfort and security she needs. She's a beautiful, intelligent young woman, and quite frankly, you're not good enough for her."

He had known that since the first time he had felt the stirrings of emotion for her, but he had never wanted to confront it. But hearing from her lips gave it a bitter, harsh reality. For the first time in a long time, he wished he couldn't feel anything.

"Of course," he breathed out, dropping his eyes to the tiles beneath his feet.

"I appreciate your co-operation," Eve said formally, as if she was speaking to a business associate, "Now I think it best you leave."

He raised his eyes to hers again, "Yes."

She looked him up and down one last time, "I suppose this is the last time I'll see you."

"I suppose."

"Goodbye, then," she said, her voice taking a softer tone. He cast one last look at her, then, taking a deep breath, he left the hospital, resigning himself to the fact that he had just lost the only woman he had ever loved.


	61. Unwanted

_Yay, another chapter I'm on a roll! Anyway I hope you like it; I'm not sure if I like this chapter, but never mind. Anyhoo, hugs and thank yous as always to anyone who's left a review, you're all awesome! Hope you enjoy :)_

"Please, Miss Westchild, I would strongly advise against this," the doctor said, stepping in front of the door so Miriana was forced to stop, "You've not healed properly yet."

"Listen, I understand that you would like to keep me under observation, but I feel perfectly fine. I have been in here for two days and I am going stir crazy,"

"But-" the doctor began to protest.

"You can't keep me here, I can check myself out and you can't do anything about it," Miriana cut across him.

The doctor sighed heavily, realizing he was fighting a losing battle, "Fine."

She winced as she heaved her bag onto her shoulder and her ribs and bruised skin screamed in protest. She still hadn't looked at herself in the mirror, and she was dreading what she would see when she did.

She limped out of the doorway, muttering a thank you the doctor as she passed. She checked in her pockets for the keys to the temporary car her insurance had given her whilst her Mercedes was being repaired. She was thankful for the company she was with, or else she would have had to have forked out an immense amount of money to replace the crinkled bonnet and shattered windscreen. Her aunt had found it ridiculous that Miriana was more concerned about the state of her car than her own body.

Her aunt had dropped the car off for her in the car park after spending a considerable amount of time trying to convince Miriana to stay in hospital for a little longer until she had recovered fully. She didn't see the point vegetating in the hospital when she could quite easily cope with the pain by knocking back a constant stream of painkillers. She slid carefully into the front seat, cursing when the engine roared into life, far louder and jerkier than the smooth purr of her Mercedes. She glanced in the mirror and winced when she saw her face, which was more mottled black and blue than the colour of her pale skin. She was going to have to buy great quantities of foundation to hide that.

She had rung Dean to find out where he and Sam were, and she had been given a curt reply. She could tell something was up in the tone of his voice, and she was determined to find out what it was. She had made the decision to drive down to Bobby's not long after the brief phone call. She hadn't told him about what had happened with the angels, but she couldn't imagine that he wouldn't notice the fact that she looked like she was the survivor of a car crash, but she was hoping to side step it somehow. She just hadn't worked out how yet.

She had fully expected to be furious with Castiel for everything that had happened to her, but she found she simply couldn't. After all, it wasn't really his fault; it was all her own actions that had led to her being beaten six ways from Sunday. She just wished he would visit her, just so she could see him. She didn't even know if he was back from heaven, or what he would look like. She had been completely disconnected from the hunting world, and she had no idea what had happened with Jimmy, but she secretly hoped that he had found his way back to his family, even though she was used to associating his face with Castiel. She had already discovered she was in love with Castiel and not Jimmy's body, so it wouldn't matter if he was wearing a different face the next time she saw him. She just wanted him to hold her.

She pulled into Bobby's driveway, knocking back a few more painkillers for good measure. She stepped out of the car and slowly climbed up the porch, rapping on the door. Everything hurt.

It was Dean who opened the door, clutching a bottle of whiskey in one hand, looking haggard and far older than his twenty nine years. He rubbed a hand across his face, looking aggravated, then his eyes finally passed over her, taking in the state of her injuries.

"What the hell happened?" he demanded.

"Nothing," she said, waving a hand airily, "So look, something's up, I can tell."

Dean's frowned deepened, "Yeah something is up. This is up." He said, gesturing at her stood on the porch step, clutching her bruised abdomen.

Rolling her eyes, she pushed past him into the hall, "Are you going to tell me what's up?" she asked.

"Do you feel like telling me why you like somebody's used you as a punching bag?" Dean questioned, ignoring her questions as if she hadn't spoken.

"Not particularly," Miriana muttered.

He stepped back looking her up and down, "It was the angels wasn't it?"

"Dean-" she began, but he held up a hand to cut across her.

"I knew it," he said, almost triumphantly, "I told you you would get hurt."

Miriana rolled her eyes, "I know you did, and you were obviously right, but we can we just move on please. Where's Sam?"

At the mention of his younger brother's name, Dean's faced instantly darkened. He didn't reply, but took a long swig of whiskey from the bottle.

She folded her arms across her chest, "Dean, tell me what the hell is going on."

Miriana stared blankly at Sam's supine figure through the tiny grille in the heavy metal door of the panic room, stretched out across the bed, his long frame twitching occasionally in his sleep. She hadn't believed Dean when he'd told her about Sam's addiction to demon blood, but when she had seen the state of him, passed out on the thin mattress she had had no choice but to believe him.

"How long?" she asked Bobby in a quiet voice.

He heaved a heavy sigh, "Who knows? A while I'm guessin'."

"Why?" she said. She couldn't comprehend what would drive the Sam she knew, the lanky Sam who always seemed so safe to commit such depravity. She'd heard of drug and alcohol addiction of course, but demon blood?

"Who knows? Maybe it speeds up those powers of his, but I just can't figure it. I've never heard of anyone drinking demon blood before. Not in all the lore I know."

She turned her back on the grille, "How long are we going to leave him in there?"

Bobby shrugged his shoulders, "I dunno. He pitched a fit before, screamin' and yellin'. Then he just went quiet. Guess he wore himself out."

Miriana voiced the question she had been dying to ask since everything had been revealed, "Do you think Ruby could have had something to do with this?"

Bobby barked out a short, bitter laugh, "Yeah, I'm guessin' that demon bitch is the root of all this."

Miriana's hands curled into fists at her sides, "I'm going to hunt her down and gut the bitch."

Bobby shook his head, "You're not going anywhere in your state."

Miriana rolled her eyes to the ceiling, "I'm not in any state, Bobby, for God's sake. I wish you and Dean would stop treating me like I'm made out of glass. I've had worse and I always bounce back."

"Those angels really did a number on you this time, though," Bobby said in a calm voice, though she could detect a hint of anger.

"Yeah well, it won't happen again."

"Does that mean you're not going after angel boy anymore?" Bobby questioned.

Miriana frowned, "How the hell do you know about that?"

"Dean filled me in," he explained, "So, is that it between you two?"

Miriana scuffed the floor with the toe of her boots, "There wasn't anything there to begin with."

"That's not the way Dean described it," Bobby muttered.

"You should know better than to trust what Dean says," Miriana said, heading for the stairs that led out of the basement, "I need a drink."

Castiel was getting rather tired of standing outside Bobby Singer's house, amongst all the broken down, rusting vehicles, watching for a sign of demons that could threaten either of the Winchesters. He had specific orders that they were both to be kept alive and completely in one piece, even Sam. He wasn't told why, as usual; he was now so used to being kept in the dark that he couldn't even be bothered to try and figure what the master plan was. He was certain he wouldn't want to know anyway.

He tensed when he heard the sound of tyres crunching over gravel and an unfamiliar dark blue car pulled to a stop outside Bobby's house, the engine sputtering in protest. He soon relaxed when he realized it wasn't a demon, but felt his borrowed heart stop for a few seconds when he saw the familiar dark hair and slender figure climb out the car, giving the front tyre of the car a kick when she walked past. He wondered briefly why she wasn't driving her usual sleek black car, but he remembered with a jolt that she had been thrown through the windscreen of it; he didn't know much about the vehicles humans liked to transport themselves in, but he assumed it would need repairing. He was surprised she hadn't brought it to Bobby; the aging hunter certainly seemed to know something about fixing cars, if the sheer number of them in his yard was anything to go by.

He watched her carefully, noticing that she pulled a small plastic bottle from her pockets and tipped some of the contents onto her hand before she swallowed them. He supposed it was medicine to numb the pain. She climbed the steps agonisingly slowly, clutching her ribs with her thin, pale hands, and he could swear he could feel the pain along with her. Another crushing wave of grief cascaded over him, and he slumped back against burnt out car he had been stood near. He saw Dean open the door, clutching a bottle of whiskey and waving his hands erratically in Miriana's direction before she shouldered past him and disappeared from the view as the door swung shut behind her.

He felt a coil of worry twist in his stomach; maybe he should leave his post and ask someone else to take it. What would happen if Zachariah caught him watching her when he had express orders to keep as far away from her as possible? He daren't risk shielding himself again, or they would begin to get suspicious. He reasoned to himself that it wasn't his fault that she just happened to be with the Winchesters whilst he had orders to protect them. Besides, it had already been stressed to him many times the safety of the Winchesters was more important than anything else. His eyes flicked back and forth across the windows, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. It was worth the crushing guilt he felt just to prove that she was still breathing.

It was starting to get dark, and the chill in the air seemed to seep straight through his skin and into his bones. He saw a few flickers of movement in the house, and his heart leapt in his chest when Miriana swept past the study window, rubbing her forehead. He wondered how she was coping with finding out about Sam's fixation for demon blood and the subsequent detox he was suffering through. From the way she kept pacing back and forth like a caged lioness, he was guessing not well.

He stayed at his post for hours, only moving to shove his cold hands a little deeper into the pockets of his trench coat. He was so fixated on the house that he didn't hear the sound of footsteps or see the slim figure walking towards him until she let out a little gasp, stopping a little way in front of him.

They both froze, completely still, just watching each other. He tried to ignore the racing of his heart in his chest, the sudden dryness of his throat and the ache of nervousness in his stomach. He felt the stirrings of Jimmy inside his head at the sight of her, the first time he had awoken inside his head since he had repossessed his body. She blinked rapidly a few times, as if she thought she was imagining his presence. She didn't look much better he thought; the bruises looked just as horrendous, even in the fading evening light, and she looked exhausted, as if she might collapse at any second. The realisation of just how badly he had ruined her life hit him at that moment.

"Why aren't you still in hospital?" he asked, breaking the tense silence.

"I checked myself out," she said in a small voice, "I was tired of being stuck in bed."

"But you're not well," he said, fighting the instinct to rush forwards and pull her into his arms, "You haven't healed."

She gave a short laugh, "I'm not like you, I won't heal for a while, and I was even more useless than usual in that hospital bed. I'm glad I left; Dean and Sam need me."

The oppressive silence fell between them again, the weight of it pressing against him. He couldn't think of anything to say to her, aside from begging for her forgiveness. She didn't seem angry though; he couldn't gauge her response at all. He couldn't even read her eyes like he normally could.

All of a sudden she rushed forwards, throwing herself into the cradle of his arms. He was so surprised he did what came instinctively to him and folded his arms across her back as she turned her face against his shoulder, careful not to press too hard against her cracked ribs. He inhaled the smell of her, relished in the warmth of her skin, so much better than the hallucination he had experienced in heaven's prison. She felt too frail, and it made him want to protect her all the more. It felt so easy and natural he found the thought of pushing her away was almost painful, as if something was being physically torn from him. But he heard Eve's firm voice in his head, ordering him to stay away, and saw Tariel, his suit and shirt streaked with her blood, and it was that motivation that made his grab hold of her arms and push her backwards, as gently but as forcefully as he could manage.

He saw the hurt flash across her eyes, which were overflowing with glistening tears, as he stepped away from her, gently pushing her arms to her sides.

"Cas-" she began, her voice thick with tears.

"Don't Miriana," he said forcefully, "Just don't."

She brushed a few tears off her cheeks, her hands trembling, "What?"

"Just stay away," he said, trying to make his voice as cold as possible.

She frowned, a few more tears racing down her cheeks, trailing a line of black eyeliner with it, "I don't understand."

He knew he would have to break her heart to keep her safe, even though the thought of hurting her anymore than he already had made him feel sick.

"You need to keep away from me," he informed her coldly, turning away from her.

"Why are you doing this?" she whispered, grabbing hold of the sleeve of his trench coat.

He wrenched his arm away, breaking her gentle grasp easily, "Why? Why do you think?"

He saw her lips tremble when she spoke, "I- I don't know."

"Because I don't want you, Miriana. I never did."

He saw the shock register across her features, as if he had just slapped her, and her skin faded to an ashen white pallor, so she looked gaunt in the dim light. At least she was convinced; he despised acting angry with her, and the false fury in his voice felt uncomfortable. It wasn't something he was used to; it felt alien and unpleasant. He deserved the very worst punishment for this.

"You don't want me?" she asked in a shaking voice. The wounded look in her eyes made his heart twist in his chest, splintering and fracturing like glass.

"You were something to do, something to play with while I had spare time," he said icily, "That's all you humans are to us." He had never been so cruel in all his two thousand years of life, and he would never have imagined he could be so heartless with her, of all people, even if it wasn't real.

She glanced up at the sky briefly, as though she suspected she was being watched by heaven; they no doubt were, the reason why he had to maintain such a hard hearted facade. She stepped a little closer to him, dropping her voice, "What have they done to you?"

He wanted to tell her about all the agony he had gone through, all he had suffered through in the prison, the torment he had gone through, the nightmarish delusions and the desecration of his body. He wanted to tell her he would gladly endure it again and again for her, that he would do anything to make it right for her. He wanted to tell her he loved her, even though the thought of confessing it to her scared him. But he knew it would save her life, and he would rather her live a life without him that no life at all.

"They didn't do anything to me, except open my eyes to how sorely mistaken I was to demean myself to your unrefined level."

Every word seemed to shred her insides; each syllable he spat out caused a sharp starburst of pain to blossom behind her dark, grief stricken eyes. _I'm sorry, _he thought, _please forgive me._ Jimmy seemed to become more conscious in his head, and he heard him ask _what the hell are you doing?_

"Why are you being so cruel?" she choked out, reaching out to take his cold hands between her warm ones, "What did I do to you?"

He ripped his hand out from between hers, although he wanted more than anything to keep the warmth of her fingers next to his, "You tainted me."

He saw the beginnings of anger now, heard it in her voice, "_You_ kept coming to me. I kept asking you, over and over, why you were with me and you never answered. Every time I turned around you were there! And the first time we kissed, _you _kissed me! You called me beautiful, you held me in your arms while I slept, and you saved my life over and over!"

"I suppose you are beautiful to human eyes," he said carelessly, "But it doesn't make up for the fact that you're a human, and you're just as weak and pathetic as the rest of your race."

The anger faded from her eyes, leaving them dark with grief once again, "But I love you," she breathed.

He wished she hadn't said that. Why did she have to confess her feelings now of all times? He felt exactly the same, but he couldn't have her. He could never have her.

"You're not worthy of my love," he managed to spit out.

He could have sworn he heard the crack as her heart broke; she clapped a shaking hand over her mouth, then turned and fled, sprinting across the now darkened car lot, her heartbroken sobs echoing around the carcasses of cars.

He watched her go, feeling oddly empty and as cold as the air around him. Jimmy was jabbering away in his head, demanding to know why he had been so vicious and cutting, but he hardly heard him. He blinked a few times, confused; there was something wrong with his eyes. They were stinging and his vision was blurring. When he lifted his fingers to his eyes, they were damp with salty tears.


	62. Long Way to Happy

_I'm really sorry for the late update everyone, but I just haven't had time with my exams, but they're over now, thank god! All I have to do now is get the results :/ Anyway, I should be updating more regularly from now on, but I do have lots of university open days, concerts and birthdays (which means parties) and other such stuff, but I'll do my best. Hope you all enjoy this chapter, I apologize if its a little rushed. Huge thanks yous to everyone who's left a review, I seemed to get loads this time, so a massive hug to you all! :) :) Anyway I'm going to sleep now 'cos it's early and I'm shattered. _

Miriana staggered into the kitchen, rifling through the cupboards for alcohol, any alcohol she could lay her hands, anything to take the burn of the pain off her broken heart. She kept her tears quiet, so she wouldn't attract the attention of Dean or Bobby.. Her hands closed around a bottle of Jack Daniels, and she unscrewed the lid and took the longest swig of harsh alcohol that she could manage before she had to break away to breathe.

She could understand that he didn't want her; she had always suspected that, ever since she had first met him. But she couldn't understand why he had been so cold and merciless; it went against his character. She felt used, and she hated it.

She kept necking the alcohol until the bottle, which had been at least three quarters full, was almost empty. The room started to spin a little and blur at the edges. She took another long draught of burning amber liquid, choking around the mouthful, the bottle slipping between her hands and falling to the floor, smashing into sharp, glittering fragments. Cursing, she dropped to her knees and rifled through the splinters of glass, unable to focus on what she was doing around the alcohol haze in her brain, unable to see through the streams of tears. She hissed in pain when she grabbed a shard of glass and it sliced through her palm, dark blood welling to the surface and spilling over her fingers. She tried to clear away the other pieces of glass, but she only served to shred her fingers further. She let out a muted scream of frustration.

"Hey, Bobby's gone out to get some- what-what are you doing?"

Dean crouched down next to her, folding his large hands carefully around her wrists, trying to stop her from gashing her fingers into bloody ribbons.

"Miriana stop," he said firmly as she struggled against him, "Stop, stop, you're hurting yourself, just stop."

She eventually gave up, slumping against the wall with a frustrated groan, resting her head against the cupboard door. She sniffed and blinked her eyes rapidly, trying to stop the flow of stinging tears. She was not going to dissolve into a snivelling mess in front of Dean.

He sat down next to her, "What happened?"

She barked out a bitter laugh, "You want to know what happened? You were right, that's what happened. And I really hate it when you're right."

He was silent for a long second, as if confused then he said, "Cas."

There was no questioning tone in his voice. Miriana nodded, "Got it in one."

"What did he do?" Dean asked.

"You know what?" her words came out slightly slurred, she noticed somewhere in the back of her addled brain. _Damn, that alcohol's worked quickly, _she thought, _how strong is it?_ "I don't even care."

Dean turned to look at her, surprise across his face, "Really?"

She frowned, "Yes! You know what else?"

"What?"

"I don't need anyone! I'm just peachy on my own, don't you think?"

Dean regarded her with worried eyes. Miriana rarely ever got drunk, not to this extent and not so quickly, anyway.

"Well!" Miriana prompted, when Dean failed to answer. She nudged him in the ribs, "I'm brilliant on my own, aren't I? I don't need some...stupid guy with feathers in a trench coat. I'm just fantastic."

"Yeah, you're great," Dean said cautiously, as though afraid of what she might do if he disagreed with her, "Now we need to look at your hand, alright?"

She lifted her hand in front of her face and studied it like she had never seen it before, "Oh yeah, I thought it was stinging a bit. I guess I nicked it, huh?"

Dean rolled his eyes as he pulled her gently to her feet, threading a supportive arm around her waist, "Yeah just a bit."

He steered her over to the nearest chair against the table, and gently pushed her shoulders so she sat down. He pulled a first aid kit from one of the cupboards and sat down opposite her, carefully pulling her hand across the table.

He swiped a cotton ball doused in antiseptic lotion across the gash and she shrieked, "Oww! That hurt!"

Dean rolled his eyes again and held her hand a little tighter, wiping away the blood, "Calm down and hold still."

"Okay doc," Miriana said, giggling as she saluted him with her free hand.

Dean silently worked away at her hand, stitching it up and painlessly as he could manage, although he guessed the bottle of Jack Daniels she had just downed in one would take the edge off the pain somewhat. She didn't speak, although Dean could feel her leg jittering almost uncontrollably under the table, and her breathing seemed a little more rapid than usual.

"Miriana, what did he do to you?" he couldn't think of a subtle way to broach the topic.

"I've told you, I'm not talking about it, because I-Don't-Care," she said, emphasizing each syllable with a slap of her hand against the wood.

"Yeah, I know that bit," he said patiently, "But this isn't you. You don't get off your face on alcohol unless you're really freaking out about something. The last time you were like this was when Cristian died and you were all over the place."

"Are you try'na say I'm an emotional wreck?" Miriana asked, infuriated, "Because, let me tell you, Dean Winchester, I am not."

"Yeah you are," Dean said softly, "He's messed you up."

"Yeah well," Miriana said bitterly, "Takes one to know one."

Dean paused in finishing off her stitches and saw the briefest flash of pain flit across his dark green eyes.

"Bitch," he joked, instantly covering up with his usual bravado, "There you go, done."

"Thanks doc," she said, giggling again as he released her hand.

"You're definitely drunk," he muttered, leaning back in the chair and rubbing his eyes, "You never giggle like a bimbo."

"I know," Miriana said, snorting with laughter, "I'm like...all messed up."

He sat back in the chair and regarded her carefully, "I know you're not gonna tell me what happened. But that celestial douche bag doesn't deserve you getting so messed up like this."

She banged the table with her fist, "I know right! You must be really chuffed; you were right all along about...that...douche bag."

She burst into fits of laughter again for no reason that Dean could see; under most circumstances he would have found it amusing, but he knew this was the stage right before Miriana thundered into an emotional train wreck. He felt guilty for all the grief he had given her over Cas. He hadn't realised quite how much she must have felt for him, but this manic reaction showed him just how important he was to her.

"Look, about all the stuff I said," Dean began, "I'm sorry. I was a dick-"

She cut him off loudly, reaching across the table and slapping his hand, "Yes you were!"

"Will you let me finish?" he said, exasperated, "I'm sorry, okay? I'm not good at all the chick-flicky, emotional, feelings stuff. Sammy's the one to go to for that, and he doesn't know about you and Cas. I never told him."

"Well, that's just as well, 'cos there's nothing to tell," she said, the inane grin dropping from her face, "There never was. It was all just a stupid school girl infatuation. One look from those big baby blue eyes and I don't know if I'm coming or going."

"Yeah, him and Sam could have a puppy dog eyes competition," Dean mused, "I've never been able to get the hand of it myself."

"Yeah, but you have raw sexual magnetism," Miriana said, winking.

"Yeah, that's true," Dean agreed, rubbing a hand across his jaw, "Plus a charming personality."

Miriana shook her head, "Not so sure about that bit."

Dean pulled a face at her, getting to his feet and opening the fridge door to raid Bobby's fridge of leftovers. Miriana got to her feet and staggered over to the sofa underneath the window, lifting her legs and leaning back on the cushions, stretching his legs out. Her head was beginning to spin so the room blurred into one, so she screwed her eyes tight shut to try and slow the whirling sensation.

She didn't know when she fell asleep, but just as she was about to tumble into a dreamless unconsciousness, she felt Dean's calloused fingers smoothing across her forehead, and a warm blanket being pulled over her body.

Miriana woke up to the sound of Sam screaming for help in the panic room, his voice echoing through the house. She winced as she sat up and the sunlight stabbed through her skull like a lance, her stomach giving a huge heave as she hauled herself into a sitting position. Her day old clothes felt sticky and uncomfortably rough against her skin. Dean was leaning against the wall opposite, his eyes dark and turbulent, purple circles under his eyes and days old stubble roughening his cheeks, which seemed so much more hollow than usual. Bobby was stood beside the table, his arms folded across his chest.

"GUYS, HELP, DEAN, MIRIANA, PLEASE!"

Miriana shut her eyes as if she could somehow drown out the noise of Sam's desperate cries and pleas for help.

"Correct me if I'm wrong," Bobby began, "But you willingly signed up to be the angel's bitch?"

Dean shot Bobby a furious glare, and he shrugged "I'm sorry, you prefer sucker?"

Miriana frowned, swinging her legs off the sofa and leaning forwards, "What do you mean, 'you're the angel's bitch?' Is it something to do with Cas?"

"I agreed that I'd accept any order they'd give me," Dean said, his voice rough with lack of sleep. He said it quietly, as if he was ashamed of admitting it. "I swore to Cas I'd do anything they wanted."

Miriana put her head in her hands and scrubbed at her forehead, as if she could knock all the anxieties and worries out of it. Sam continued to yell and beg. "Why?"

"Exactly my point," Bobby snapped, "After everything you said about them, now you trust them?"

"Come on Bobby, give me a little credit," Dean said, pushing away from the wall against which he had been dejectedly leaning, "I've never trusted them less. I mean, they come on like shady politicians from the planet Vulcan."

Miriana rolled her eyes at the analogy. Why did it always come down to pop culture references with Dean?

"Then why in the hell-"

Dean cut across Bobby with a furious shout, "Because what other option do I have? It's either trust the angels, or let Sammy trust a demon?"

Miriana had to admit in his situation, she would have done exactly the same thing. She could never willingly let Sam be manipulated any further by that twisted hellspawn.

It seemed Bobby agreed with them both, "I see your point."

At that moment Dean cocked his head to the side, as if trying to listen to something indiscernible, "Your hear that?"

Miriana was about to make the unhelpful comment about not being to hear anything, when she suddenly realised that was what was so significant. She couldn't hear any panicked, agonized screams from Sam; the house was suddenly, eerily quiet. She had become used to hearing the screaming that it had become just another background noise. But the sudden absence hung in the air like a dead weight.

"That's a little too much nothin'," Bobby said, following Dean as they raced for the stairs that led to the basement. Miriana followed them as fast as she could, although her stomach turned over when she launched herself from the sofa and her head screamed in protest. She was never going to let herself get so drunk again; she didn't think she could endure another hangover like the monumental one she had at the moment.

She followed close behind Bobby and Dean as they headed towards the heavy iron door, trying very hard not to empty what little was in her stomach all over the floor. There was a loud, harsh scrape of metal as Dean pulled the grille across the door, peering into the room. She couldn't see Sam, but she could hear his choking and gasping, and the noise of it made her feel even sicker.

"What if he's faking?" Dean asked.

"You really think he would?" Bobby asked breathlessly.

The choking continued, "I think he'd do anything."

At that moment, she heard a huge crash of something very solid crashing into the metal walls off the panic room, as she strongly suspected it was Sam.

"Oh my God, Dean help him!" she yelled, gesturing wildly at the door.

"That doesn't look like fakin'," Bobby said, helping Dean wrench the door back.

When Miriana saw into the room, she saw Sam pinned against the wall by some invisible force, thrashing, trapped in the throes of vicious spasms. Dean and Bobby grabbed Sam's wildly thrashing arms, pinning him against the bed, although it seemed to take every ounce of strength they both had to control Sam's massive frame and he struggled against them. Bobby pulled his belt off and Miriana did the same, realising what they intended to do. The belt was forced into Sam's mouth to try and pin his head flat against the floor, but he battled against the strip of leather, sinking his teeth into the material. Miriana handed Bobby her belt, which he grasped in one hand.

"We're gonna have to tie him down for his own safety," Bobby said, as Sam continued to strain against them, "Dean?"

Dean said nothing, simply stared at his little brother with horrified eyes, as if he was watching some terrible horror movie unfold before him.

"Dean!" Bobby snapped, "Before he has another fit!"

Dean jerked out of his trance violently, "Yeah, yeah. Just get it over with!"

Miriana couldn't stay any longer, couldn't watch them lock down Sam like he was some dangerous, out of control zoo animal. Her stomach was back flipping inside of her, she could taste the awful burn of bile rising up her throat and the room seemed to be swimming into a blur at the edges. She staggered up the stairs as fast she could manage and lurched towards the bathroom, slamming the door back and knocking several contents out of the cupboard on the wall. Coughing and heaving, she emptied the contents of her stomach, mostly Jack Daniels, into the sink, uncontrollably retching up nothing but thin air. Trembling, she twisted the tap and cupped her hands to catch the flow of cold water as it spurted over her hands. Splashing it over her face, she gasped as the icy water sprayed against her skin, mingling with the burning hot tears that leaked from her eyes. She swilled some around her mouth, trying to clear the disgusting taste of vomit from her tongue.

She slumped down against the cold tiles of the bathroom, pressing her head against the cool porcelain column of the sink, feeling so weak and fragile she was sure she would shatter at any second. Without the large quantities of alcohol or painkillers, the pain from the beating she received from the angels intensified and raged through her, worse than she had felt it before, it seemed. She let herself cry, uninhibited, listening to the pit-pat of her tears rolling down her cheeks and falling to the tiled floor. She cried for Sam and Dean and the terrible situation they had both been forced into, at each other's throats. She cried for the cruel sting of rejection from Castiel, cried for her own stupidity in her desperation to mould a relationship with him, cried for the pain that was ripping through her.

She wasn't sure how long she stayed there, curled in the corner of the bathroom, before she felt Dean helping to her feet, pulling her against his chest. He pressed his face into her shoulder, and she felt the dampness of his salty tears soaking through the material of her shirt. She clung onto him as tightly as she could manage, anchoring herself to sanity.

"I'm so tired of everything, Dean," she confessed against his shirt.

"I know," he whispered back, his voice saturated with grief, anger and pain.

Wordlessly, he pulled Miriana over to the long heavily padded sofa underneath the window and lay down on it, pulling her with him so she was splayed out across his chest, her head resting on his broad shoulder. Burying her face into his shirt, she felt his arms tighten across her back, fisting in the thin material of her shirt. It was incredibly soothing, lying next to Dean's warmth and with the scent of his familiar aftershave in her nose and the comforting sensation of his deep even breathing. She risked a glance up at him, and saw that his eyes were squeezed tight shut, the tear tracks glistening against his skin, marking a shining path from the corners of his eyes down his cheeks. Resting her head against his chest again, she moved her ear over to the middle of his chest so she could hear and feel the reassuring, powerful beat of his heart, and fell asleep to the sound of it, like a lullaby.

Zachariah was more than a little pleased with Castiel for 'ensuring the co operation of the older meat head' as Zachariah so eloquently put it. He even clapped him on the back in a brotherly sort of way and even gave him a wide smile. And Castiel hated him for it.

He did have one more task to carry out, and he was absolutely dreading it. He knew that the younger Winchester had an important role to play in heaven's plans, but he had always hoped the care of Dean's somewhat flawed little brother would go to someone else. But he had his orders, and he didn't dare disobey them. He didn't think they could hurt him anymore than they already had, but Zachariah kept the ever present threat of Miriana's death hanging over him like a glass vase, waiting to be dropped and shatter into a hundred deadly shards. He knew how totally delicate and all too breakable she was when compared to the iron strength of the angels. She wouldn't have a chance.

He had felt oddly cold, empty and drained since the last time he had seen and so thoroughly and effectively managed to shred her into so many little pieces. He didn't think he would ever be able to look in her in the eyes again, much less talk to her. It was much too late now; she would never forgive him, and he would never be able to break free from Heaven's ever watchful glare and confess to her how he really felt and why he had to lie. He was condemned to live the rest of eternity alone, and yearning for something he couldn't have. He tried to convince himself that it was a good thing, for her at least, that she had a chance at a more normal like and someone who could give what she really wanted. But he saw her with other men that looked oddly like Dean, married, with little dark haired children even, and it made him feel completely dead and hollow, as if his insides had been torn out. It wasn't a good thing for him; he would be forced to watch from the sidelines, unnoticed and uncared for, as she lived her life. His future was terribly bleak and desolate.

He hadn't seen Embriel since the hospital, and he was afraid of what she would think of him when she learned of what he had done to Miriana. Her body was battered because of him, and now her heart was too. Perhaps she already knew and was avoiding him through disgust at his actions. Everyone else seemed to be shying away from him; why should she be any different.

With a smooth twist of his fingers, the front door of Bobby Singer's house unlocked with a quiet click, the door swinging inwards to show the moonlit kitchen. He swept noiselessly past the aging hunter, who was slumped at the kitchen table, his cheek resting against a huge, dusty leather bound tome, snoring slightly. He swept into the living room, which was silent save for the ticking of a clock and the hum of an old clanking computer. His eyes fell to the sofa, and he felt a surge of searing hot jealousy race through him when he saw Miriana stretched out against Dean's body, their legs intertwined, their breathing synchronized, the both of them completely and deeply asleep. He remembered the two, all too brief nights he had held her while she slept, so completely natural and more heavenly than anything he had experienced on the celestial astral plane. He should be the one who was enveloped so closely next to her, not Dean.

He looked away from them, unable to keep his eyes on their bodies pressed so closely against each other. He moved silently through the living room and carefully picked his way down the stairs that led into the dark basement, his keen eyes picking out the heavy bolt that secured the door of the panic room. Ensconcing himself in the dense shadows so the younger Winchester wouldn't see him when he left, he reached out with his hand, and with a quick flick of his wrist, the blot slid back with a scraping of metal, allowing the door to swing open. He waited, hardly daring to breathe, watching the pool of moonlight that leaked out from the doorway. After a few short minutes, he saw the hulking figure cautiously shuffle out of the room, the sweat on his skin glistening in the dim light as he raced up the steps, as if he was worried someone would suddenly throw him back into the panic room. He watched Sam's large boots disappear from view, and then he turned and slid the bolt back across the door, the click of the metal loud and ominous in the silence. He stared in the dark for a few more minutes, feeling utterly ashamed and scared of what Sam; the boy with the demon blood and the twisted powers might do next. He was about to leave, when he heard a painfully familiar voice behind him, the sound of her voice brushing over his skin like velvet.

"What the hell are you doing?"


	63. Take Me Under

_Okay, so I need to give all you guys that read and review an apology. I'm really sorry I haven't updated as regularly as I usually do and that this chapter is really short, but things have been manic at the moment, even though my exams are over. Firstly, all my teachers have started with second year work already, and looking at next years courses, I don't think I'm going to have time to eat and sleep! I'm going to make sure I write loads over the summer so I don't leave all you faithful reviewers and readers hanging like I have done this time (thats if you all want me to carry onto season 5 with this fanfiction that is.) Also, I've had about a million university open days and i've got a whole box full of prospectuses and application details, and I've still got to write my personal statement and make myself look good, which is absolutely doing my head in at the moment. I'm being bombarded with reasons to study biomedicine all over the place, and its driving me mad. We've also had a death in the family and a crisis with one of our friends, so thats been a bit of a nightmare. On a more positive note, another reason this update is so late is that I went to see Greenday at Manchester Old Trafford on Wednesday, and absolutely effing amazing is the understatement of the century! They are officially the most epic live band on the planet, and Billie Joe is the most entertaining frontman in the world (and cute!) As much as I enjoyed it, I still haven't recovered from lack of sleep and constant adrenalin of jumping up and down for three and a half hours whilst being crushed on all sides and nearly squashed by my drunken mate when he tried (and failed, might I add) to crowdsurf. I got sunburnt like a lobster queing up for four and a half hours so we could get a good spot, and I'm battered from being kicked around the moshpit all night. I think its called mosh-pit-itis :) They were well worth it though. I must be mad, because I'm doing it again in a few months- I'm going to see Muse at old trafford for my eighteenth (standing again), and I've just booked tickets to see Thirty Seconds to Mars again at Manchester central- again a standing gig. I think I have a problem- I'm addicted to gigs; I must have been to about seven major gigs in the last two years or so. At least I can call my self a hardened gigger now- I always wanted to be able to say that! Anyway I'm sure you're all thinking shut the hell up and get writing you lazy bugger, so once again a big apology to everyone who reads and reviews- I already feel bad enough for not having the time to reply to reviews individually :( All I can do is try and get a better, longer chapter out for next weekend and give you all a big thank you and virtual hug for leaving such great reviews. :)_

He froze on the spot, not trusting himself to turn around and look at her.

"Err...hello?" she said in a cold voice, "I said, what the hell are you doing?"

He turned to face her, but he kept his eyes focused on a spot somewhere just next to her head, "It's not of your concern."

"Excuse me?" she barked, taking a few steps closer, "I think you'll find it is of my concern. What are you doing sneaking around Bobby's house in the-"

She tailed off suddenly, craning her head to see past him, "Just what exactly are you doing down here?"

He didn't answer; she'd come to the conclusion herself. Glaring at him so fiercely he felt certain his skin would scorch, she pushed past him and slid the grille back across the door.

"Oh my God," he heard her breathe, "He's gone."

She turned away from the door, facing him, "Where is he?"

Again, he didn't answer. He decided talking to her in any way only seemed to make her angrier.

She shoved at his shoulder, and he was surprised at just how much force there was behind it, "Hey!" she barked, "I'm asking you a question. At least have the decency to answer me."

"Sam's gone," he stated unhelpfully.

"Gone where?" she asked, exasperated.

"I don't know," he said in a dull monotone, "Nor do I care."

She took a step back and regarded him carefully, "Just what the hell did they do to you up there?"

He sighed heavily, not wanting to get drawn into this argument with her again, "I have already told you, they showed me the error of my ways."

"Really," she said, the slightest mocking edge in her tone, "So tell me, why did they ask you to let Sam out of his cage? I thought he was a walking abomination, after all."

"They don't tell me anything," he said flatly.

"I see," she said coldly, "Just following orders as per usual, like a good little soldier."

He looked her straight in the eyes, although the guilt he felt when he saw the still healing bruises around them was unbearable, "I don't have a choice, Miriana," he said quietly, trying to convey all the reasons for everything he had done, "I cannot disobey again."

"I'm sure," she said, pushing off the wall against which she had been leaning, "But I feel sorry for you."

He frowned as she stepped as close to him as possible without touching him, but close enough to feel the heat radiating from her body, close enough to make his throat constrict.

"You look like you're missing me like a hole in the head," she murmured, standing on her tiptoes so he could feel her breath whispering across the shell of his ear.

He shivered and squeezed his eyes tight shut when she very deliberately brushed against him as she moved past, heading towards the stairs.

"Where are you going?" he managed to choke out, fighting to keep his voice even.

"To get Dean to sort out this great big mess you've dumped us in."

He was behind her in an instant, gripping her arm like a vice, "I don't recommend that."

"Why?" she sneered, "Worried he'll kick your arse? I'm pretty sure you could just smite him."

"Miriana..." he implored.

"Let go of me," she snapped, struggling to break his iron hard grip.

Wordlessly, he lifted two fingers towards her forehead, and her eyes widened when she realized what he was about to do.

"Don't you dare," she hissed, her fingers closing over his wrist to try and stop him.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, easily breaking through her weak grip and touching two fingers to her forehead. She let out a little gasp as her eyes rolled up into the back of her head, and her legs gave out from underneath her, but he caught her before she could hit the floor, hooking an arm around her waist to support her. He held her against him for as long as he could, relishing the warmth of her through her clothes, then kneeling, he swept her unconscious body into his arms. Careful not to jostle her too much, he carried her limp body over to a battered couch in the corner and gently laid her down on the sagging cushions, arranging her so he thought she would be more comfortable.

He wanted to stay and watch over her, but he didn't dare risk it. Hesitantly, he reached out and let his fingers hover millimetres away from her cheek, lingering over the bruise that coloured the skin there. He was terrified for her, now he was aware of the impending apocalypse and Lucifer's return to earth. The hunters were already fighting a losing battle, and when the lock that barred Lucifer's cage sprung open and he rose, bringing with him the horsemen and all the horrors of the apocalypse, they wouldn't stand a chance. More than a few times, he wished she didn't lead the life she did, full of blood and death and pain. If she wasn't a hunter and lived a normal life, the apocalypse would no doubt pass over her unnoticed; until the earth burst into the flames and humanity was razed to the ground that was. But at least she wouldn't be fighting to the death every day; at least the threat of the end of the world would not hang over her like a dead weight against her shoulders. But still, as hard as he tried to wish her a normal life, he couldn't help but be grateful for her choice to live her life as a hunter. If it weren't for her close friendship with Dean, he would never have met her back in that barn, what seemed a lifetime ago. It hadn't been an exactly conventional meeting, after all he didn't have much experience with human interaction, and he had expected her to run a mile from him the next time he contacted her. But she hadn't; he had been surprised by just how calm she had seemed in his presence, when most humans turned away from him and his alien behaviour and disturbingly old eyes that had seen too much. There was something about her, something he couldn't quite place, that made her completely unique to him. He had seen much of humanity over his long life, even though he hadn't interacted with them much. He knew many of his brothers in heaven had a certain fascination and an almost obsession for women, which until Miriana, he had never understood. Some of them had even fallen to earth and humanity for them, which he had once thought was the blackest of sins. He had simply never found them interesting enough to capture his attention. But she was completely different to anything he had experienced before, the only thing that had ever made him want to turn his back on the heaven he loved so much. He now had a full understanding of why those angels he knew had ripped out their grace and fallen to earth for the women they loved, and he almost envied them for it. If only he had the bravery to do the same, things might be so different between him and Miriana.

The floorboards gave a sudden loud creak above him, and he heard the rough sound of Dean's voice upstairs, demanding something of Bobby. He let his eyes linger over Miriana for a few more seconds, then vanished before Dean came and he had to face up for his actions.


	64. You Fight Me

_Hi guys, hope you all enjoy this chapter. I'm not keen on it myself; I think its a bit boring, and there's no Cas in it- I just couldn't find a way to work him in. Don't worry, he'll be back soon, and it'll be good I promise :) Anyway, a huge thanks as always to everyone who's left a review, you're fantastic. I really appreciate the great comments you leave, and it always spurs me on to write more. Love and hugs to you all :)_

Embriel watched over Bobby Singer's house and all those within it with her ancient, sad eyes, unnoticed to everyone. She felt like she had moulded into the bonnet of the battered, rusty carcass of the car she was sat on she had been there so long. Zachariah seemed to have forgotten all about her he was so preoccupied with the coming apocalypse that was about to burst out of hell and crawl over the earth.

She had seen Castiel from a distance, following his orders to watch over the Winchesters perfectly obediently and unquestioningly, like he had done before Miriana had burst onto the scene. Embriel thought that she should rationally hate Miriana for everything that had happened between her and Castiel, but she couldn't bring herself to feel any resentment for the woman. She hadn't intended to do anything, hadn't intended to get Castiel dragged up to heavens prison and tortured. She was just fighting to make it through each day, fighting to keep herself and those she loved alive. And she'd fallen in love, and she knew herself, it was unstoppable and impossible to ignore, no matter the consequences.

Despite heavens obsession with fate and destiny, Embriel wasn't sure she always believed it. She had always believed that a person could easily change the course they were set on, if they had the determination. She honestly believed the Winchesters could turn their backs on plans for them to become the vessels of Michael and Lucifer. But she couldn't help but think that there was a tinge of fate involved with Miriana and Castiel. They seemed to be constantly pulled towards each other, no matter how hard they tried to resist it, and no matter how many times their relationship was tested to the extreme; they never seemed to get more than a few peaceful hours together before some tragedy struck them. She worried that this time though, the damage done was too great. She had watched him break her heart and mangle his own, all thanks to Zachariah and his tyrannical regime. She could only hope that Miriana knew him well enough now to see past this cold facade he had crafted, to understand the reasons beneath his actions.

He just needed half an hour alone with her, protected from Zachariah and the watchful eyes of heaven, to tell her truth. She could tell Miriana herself, but she knew she wouldn't believe her; it needed to come from him. She would give him that time if it killed her. Which it probably would.

"If I ever see that winged tosspot again, I'll kill him," Miriana raged, as she knocked back her fourth painkiller of the afternoon, "My head feels like I've been on a four day bender."

"Yeah, you don't look much better either," Dean quipped, flashing her a weary smile.

"Shut the hell up, Dean," she muttered, slumping down onto Bobby's sagging couch, "You look like death warmed up too."

"If you two kids will stop bitching for two seconds," Bobby began, "We still have to work out who busted Sam from the panic room, and track him down."

Miriana looked between the two, surprised, "You mean you don't know who let him out?"

"No," Dean grumbled, "Do you?"

Of course she knew. She had caught Cas in the act, just after he had turned the bolt and let Sam out. But she was overwhelmed by the sudden irrational urge to lie. She wasn't quite sure why the desire seized her; after all she thought he deserved everything he got, and even if Dean was mad enough to do something stupid, it wasn't like he couldn't protect himself. But she felt the need to protect him, for reasons she couldn't quite fathom.

"No, of course I don't," she snapped, "I was lying comatose since this morning, in case you've forgotten."

"Yeah about that," Dean said, "Why exactly did our feathered friend knock you out?"

Miriana sighed heavily, trying to think of a lie as quickly as possible, "I think I pissed him off. Asking too many questions." It wasn't that far from the truth, anyway.

"Yeah that sounds like you," Dean said, leaning back in his chair, "Can't say I blame the guy. But what was he doing here anyway?"

"He was trying to find out where Sam had gone and who had taken him." Wow, the lies were coming thick and fast today, and they sounded convincing. "At least that's what he said."

"Well he hasn't done a very good job," Dean growled.

"Yeah, then why are you sat here?" Miriana snapped, "Go and find Sam. You of all people should be able to."

Dean glared at her across the table, "Bobby has some leads."

Miriana threw her hands up in exasperation, "Then go! Deal with this before it's too late."

Dean suddenly stood up, shrugging on his leather jacket, "Yeah, well you know what the first thing I'm gonna do is? Gut that bitch Ruby. I need to sort out my car."

She followed Dean as he stormed outside, grabbing a box of tools from the cupboard beside the front door.

"You got the knife?" she asked, close on Dean's heels as he headed for his car, which was parked near to Bobby's huge corrugated iron garage.

He fumbled in his pocket for a second and then pulled the knife free, "Yep."

She suddenly remembered she hadn't told Dean about the identical knife her aunt had found in her father's lock-up, safely stashed away inside a demon proof box in her car. But she didn't think know was the best time to bring it up. Maybe once the whole Sam situation had blown over. If it ever did.

She stood beside the car silently whilst Dean worked diligently on his car, his face obscured by the lid of the bonnet.

"Hey Dean?" she asked tentatively.

"What?" he grunted.

"What if Sam doesn't get over this demon blood thing?" she had been thinking about it for hours, but she hadn't dared to bring it up.

"He will," was all that Dean muttered in reply.

"But if he doesn't?" Miriana continued, twisting the sleeve of her shirt between her fingers.

"Look Miriana-" Dean began in an aggravated tone, but Bobby's gruff voice cut him off.

"Police found my car," he said, "Abandoned in an alley in Jamestown, North Dakota."

Dean straightened up, scrubbing the engine oil off his hands with a rag, "He's switching up. Any other cars stolen in Jamestown?"

"Two," Bobby replied, "1999 Honda Civic, blue. Nice and anonymous, like Sam likes."

"What was the other one?" Dean questioned.

Bobby smirked, "White '05 Escalade with custom rims- it's a neon sign."

Dean nodded, "You're right. He'd never take that. Which is exactly what he did."

"You're sure?" Miriana asked. She shouldn't really question Dean; after all, he knew his brother better than anyone.

"I know that kid," he said, throwing the tools to one side, "I'll head in that direction. You two stay here and ride the police databases."

He slammed the bonnet shut, "We gotta find him quick."

Dean had been gone for exactly thirty three minutes. Miriana had been watching the clock ever since he had left the house in a storm of anger and purposefulness, roaring off down Bobby's drive in a blaze of exhaust fumes and the roar from the Impala's engine. She was jittery, and she wasn't sure why. A coil of unease had begun to blossom in her chest, heavy and uncomfortable, and it refused to budge.

"Bobby?" she called.

"Yeah?" he grunted back in reply, coming out of his study.

"What the address that you gave Dean?" she asked.

"Jamestown, North Dakota."

"Right," she said, standing up and grabbing her keys from the hook beside the door.

"What are you doing?" he questioned, watching her as she hurriedly shrugged her jacket onto her frame.

"Following Dean," she replied, striding towards the front door.

"Uh...why?" he said, following her the door.

"I don't trust Sam and that bitch, Ruby. Dean's going to need back-up."

"I don't think that's the best idea," Bobby said, his gruff voice laced with concern, "Just leave them two to their own battles. Plus, it's Sam, Miriana. Dean can cope with him."

"Except it's not Sam any more, is it Bobby?" she said wearily, "Not at the moment."

Bobby began a stream of arguments, but she cut him off by closing the door as politely as possible in his face.

Miriana knew Dean would never catch up with Dean on the roads, not with the absurd speed he drove at, but at least he didn't have that much of a head start on her. She could find him at the motel he had tracked Sam to, and hope she wasn't too late.

She glanced across at the passenger seat, possessively running her fingertips over the jagged edges of the knife where it lay on the seat, glinting ominously in the fading early evening light. She wasn't going to pass up an opportunity to gut Ruby and send the manipulative bitch straight back to hell and ensure she didn't come back.

She was only half an hour away from the hotel where Sam was staying; all she had to do when she got there was work out which room he was in. She glanced at the luminous green letters of the clock on her dashboard, surprised by how late it was. She felt like she had been awake for days, but she didn't feel in the slightest bit tired. The adrenalin was pumping through her veins, and once adrenalin kicked in, Miriana could keep going for days.

She found the motel easily; it was the only one on the long road, and it's flashing neon sign blared out over the tarmac. She parked her car in the furthest corner of the dark parking lot, so she wouldn't attract their attention, although it wasn't easy to be stealthy in the hire car she was using from her insurance company. She couldn't wait until she could hear the smooth purr of her Mercedes instead of the dull grumble and clanking of the beaten up blue Ford she had been given. She leaned across in her seat and very carefully stashed the knife inside her leather jacket, ensuring it was thoroughly hidden from view. Getting arrested by police for casually strolling into a hotel brandishing a knife would not help the situation.

She needn't have worried about onlookers however, as the reception was deserted, not even anyone behind the desk. She wasn't entirely sure where she was going, but she hoped that after wandering around the corridors for a few minutes, she would stumble across Sam's room.

After just a few short minutes of pacing down silent corridors, she heard a door slam back against the wall and the sound of quick footsteps and panicked breathing. She waited around the corner, sliding her hand under her jacket, closing her fingers around the cool wooden hilt of the knife. She kept as still and quiet and possible, then launched herself around the corner at the figure.

She slammed straight into a petite figure, who let out a high pitched yell of surprise and hastily took a few steps back. Ruby stood staring at Miriana, her posture like that of a cornered lioness, her dark eyes panicked and her chest heaving.

"Just where the hell do you think you're going?" Miriana asked, her voice deadly calm.

"It's got nothing to do with you," Ruby spat back, her voice considerably less controlled than Miriana's, "Move out of my way."

Miriana swept the knife smoothly from her jacket and held it at her side, ensuring Ruby had a clean view of the ugly serrated blade. She saw the demon's eyes widen to the size of dinner plates.

"Where did you get that?" she breathed.

"It's got nothing to do with you," Miriana replied, parroting her earlier words, "You really think I'm going to let you just walk away from here, after everything you've done to Sam?"

Ruby let out a bitter laugh, "You and Dean are so alike. You can't see that I've made Sam better. Stronger."

Miriana shook her head, content colouring her voice, "Gulping down gallons of hell blood is not better. In fact, I'd say it was pretty sick."

Ruby's dark eyes flared, "You're just jealous of his strength, just wish you weren't as pathetic as you really are."

Miriana gave no comeback to this except to sweep the knife through the air, aiming for Ruby's jugular vein. She dodged the attack easily and brought her fist through the air to smash it into Miriana's cheek. It took her by surprise, so much so she nearly lost her grip on the knife, but she kept hold of it and blindly swung for Ruby again. She missed her arm by a matter of centimetres, managing to just slice free a piece of her leather jacket. She felt Ruby's hands close around the lapels of her jacket and she shoved her as hard as she could against the wall, her head colliding painfully against the wall with a sharp, resounding crack. Infuriated and slightly dazed, Miriana made a grab for Ruby's throat, managing to close her fingers around the other woman's neck, preventing her from escaping. She pulled the knife from her side and swung it towards Ruby's chest, but the demon caught her wrist milliseconds before it pierced the skin of her chest. They struggled silently for a few seconds; Ruby desperately trying to break Miriana's chokehold around her neck and hold the tip of the knife at bay. With a sudden movement, Miriana drove her knee as hard as possible into the demon's stomach, rewarded by a painful exclamation from Ruby as she stumbled backwards. It was in a few brief seconds that Miriana just managed to swipe the blade across Ruby's chest, leaving a red hot trail behind, not deep enough to kill. She cursed and lunged again, but in the next second she felt Ruby's fist pummel into her stomach, driving all the breath from her lungs and sending her crashing into the floor, gasping. She slumped against the wall, tying to steal a breath back into her lungs, watching helplessly as Ruby raced down the corridor, her dark hair flying.

Miriana felt the retch inducing taste of coppery blood rise up her throat like bile, and she coughed a mouthful of dark blood onto the grungy carpet of the motel hallway, trying to ignore the sickening ache of pain in her abdomen. She still had to find Dean, but every time she tried to move she found she couldn't even get to her feet, the agony in her stomach was so horrendous. If she didn't know better, she would have sworn that Ruby had been using a knuckle duster.

She heard the sound of slow, deliberate footsteps thudding down the corridor and she looked up, hoping for help. A familiar hulking figure stepped into view, his shoulders drawn tight with tension.

"S-Sam," she managed to choke out, "Give me a hand."

He took one long at her, and it was in that second that she knew something was very wrong. His green eyes, usually so full of light and humour, were as black and dead-eyed as that of a shark. His face was set like stone into an unreadable mask, and she noticed when she glanced at his clenched fists that his knuckles were stained with a dusting of coppery blood. There a dark smear of crimson across his white shirt, stark and frightening against the pale material.

"Sam?" she questioned. It didn't seem to be him at all, just someone wearing his features.

He turned his gaze from her, blood curtaining over her lower lip and clutching her bruised stomach, and walked calmly down the corridor as if he hadn't seen her on the floor. She watched him go, certain a little piece of heart just died with his callous disregard of her. That was not Sam. Sam was always the one who helped bind up wounds and clean scraped knees and cut heads, even when he was young and quite inept and dressing a wound. He had always wanted to help.

She realized with a jolt that she hadn't seen Dean walk past; she couldn't imagine he would simply let his brother stroll away, arm in arm with a demon. With considerable effort, she hauled herself to her feet and staggered down the dingy corridor in the direction Sam and Ruby had both come from. It didn't take her long to come across the open door, strewn with splinters and shard of broken glass. She limped into the room, gasping when she saw Dean lying on the floor, nestled in a chaotic pile of shattered glass and great chunks of rough wood. He gave a weak cough when Miriana approached, falling onto her knees next to him and pulling his bleeding head into her lap.

"He left, Miriana," he rasped, squeezing his eyes tight shut, "He just left."

"I know," she whispered, at a loss for anything else to say. She reckoned the betrayal he must be feeling would cut like a knife, and hurt more than any wounds he had.

"I told him if he walked out to never come back," he wheezed, "But he walked out anyway. I guess I don't mean anything."

She glanced around at the battle zone that had once been a motel room, wondering just how vicious the fight between the two brothers had been. She had seen them fight before, but only verbally, with the occasional punch here or there. But they always made up; nothing had managed to split the devoted brothers up yet. She looked down at Dean's beaten and bloody face, cradled in her hands, her fingers stained with his blood, and guessed something had just come and split the brothers up, maybe permanently.


	65. Another One Bites the Dust

_Well, I've officially finished my first year at Cardinal Newman college! I can't believe I'm going into my A2 year soon; before I know it I'll be at university! Anyway, enough of such scary thoughts! Hope you all enjoy this chapter, and a big thank you and hugs as always to all you great people that have left a review or a favourite- I love you! I'm pretty sure I'll have this story finished by the end of the week, but I have got plans for season five sorted, so it won't be long be long before I upload a new story, especially since I'm on summer holidays now, yay! Anyhoo, enjoy. :)_

It seemed like the earth and the animals knew the apocalypse was coming; everything was silent. This spot by the lake was one of Castiel's favourite spots to sit and think, but today it felt cold and threatening. Usually, the air was saturated with the sound of birdsong and crickets, but it was deadly silent. Even the lapping of the water against the shore seemed muted. Heavy grey clouds were converging above him, a physical manifestation of the fear and dread he felt. The wind was like ice, knifing straight through his clothes and chilling him to the bone underneath. All the warmth had been leached from the earth and the light stolen from the sky.

He felt the flutter of wings next to him, and he turned to find Embriel sat beside him on the bench, staring pensively at the iron grey surface of the lake.

"The world is holding its breath isn't it?" she stated, "It's waiting, so quietly."

He said nothing, just returned his eyes to the slate gravel under his feet.

"When the apocalypse comes, which it will," Embriel began, "You know there's a likelihood she won't last long."

He knew exactly who she was talking about, but again he didn't say anything. He didn't want to think about it.

"She might die, Castiel," she continued, "Every evil thing will come pouring across the earth, and she'll be caught in the cross fires."

"I know," he said through gritted teeth. He couldn't understand why Embriel was intent on torturing him.

"Then why haven't you told her?" Embriel asked.

"Told her what?" he said, although he knew full well.

"Why haven't you told that you're in love with her?" Embriel said gently.

He clenched his hands tightly in his lap, "I'm not."

Embriel laughed softly, "Of course you are. You might not know it or understand it, but you are."

"How would you know?" he muttered sullenly.

"Because I know the signs, Castiel," she said, "The overwhelming obsession, feeling like you can't breathe without them, that ache in your chest? I should know, I've felt them all before."

He raised his head from his study of his hands in surprise, "What?"

Embriel's eyes were incredibly sad, "It doesn't matter."

"But you-" he began.

"I said it doesn't matter," Embriel said in a much firmer voice, "What matters are you and Miriana."

He turned his gaze back to the floor, "There is no me and Miriana."

"You don't really believe that," she said softly.

"Maybe there was a chance once," he said bitterly, "But not anymore."

"I know your relationship is broken," she said, "But it doesn't mean it can't be fixed."

"She hates me," he said miserably, "After everything I've done..."

"Everything you did you did to save her life," Embriel said, "She just needs to understand that."

"And how exactly can I tell her?" he demanded, "I can't speak to her for fear of Zachariah's angels cutting her down where she stands."

"Then you need a little time with her, completely alone."

He let out a derisive snort, "I can't go anywhere without them watching me."

"Not if I can cast a few little charms," Embriel said in a matter of fact voice.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

Embriel let out a little laugh, "Castiel, why do you think it took them so long to find out about your relationship? Because most of the time you were with her, I was protecting you both. Keeping you out of unfriendly eyes."

"You were...shielding us?" he asked, bewildered.

"As best as I could," Embriel replied, "It was only because of the help you gave to the Winchesters and your odd behaviour that you arose their suspicion."

"So it's my fault they found out about her," he said slowly, feeling his heart sink, "All because I'm too...useless to keep a lid of my emotions."

Embriel's slender hand covered his, "It's not your fault. You can't help how you're feeling."

"I could have done," he muttered, "If I was stronger."

"Enough of the self pity," Embriel snapped suddenly, "Do something proactive."

She stood up, straightening her long cream cardigan, "Give me a day or so," she said, stretching her wide, pale wings out behind her, her long thin feathers rustling, "And I'll give you the time you need."

The atmosphere in Bobby's study was terrible. Both Miriana and Bobby had tried and failed to initiate conversation with Dean, who had been stood staring out of the window at the wasteland of broken down cars for over half an hour, his fists shoved deep into the pockets of his leather jacket.

"Dean?" Bobby asked. It seemed he was giving it one last try. Miriana had given up long ago.

"You listen to a word I said?" Bobby persisted.

Dean shifted slightly at the window, "Yeah I heard you. I'm not calling him."

Miriana rolled her eyes, wondering why Bobby was still desperately trying to convince Dean to call his younger brother. It was a completely pointless argument.

"Don't make me get my gun boy," Bobby growled.

Dean finally turned away from his scrutiny of Bobby's ramshackle back yard, turning to face them both, "We're damn near kick off for Armageddon. We got bigger fish as the moment."

"I know you're pissed and I'm not making apologies, but he's your-"

"Blood?" asked Dean, cutting across Bobby, "He's my blood-is that what you're gonna say?

Bobby took a deep breath as if to calm himself, "He's your brother, and he's drowning."

Dean slumped back against the cabinet underneath the window, "Bobby, I tried to help him. I did. Look what happened."

The ugly bruising still marred the left hand side of Dean's face, the small cuts that peppered his skin evidence of where Sam's fists had collided with his skull and broke the skin. Miriana herself could still feel the dull ache where Ruby had ploughed her fist into her stomach.

"So try again," Bobby countered.

Sighing heavily, Dean slowly made his way over to the seat next to where Miriana was sat, "No, it's too late."

"Nothing is ever too late," Miriana muttered, just loud enough for Dean to hear.

"No dammit," he said in an exasperated voice, "No. We gotta face facts. Sam never wanted part of this family."

"Don't be ridiculous, of course he did," Miriana snapped, frustrated by Deans' complete pigheaded stubbornness.

"He hated this life growing up," Dean continued as if she hadn't spoken, "Ran away to Stanford the first chance he got. Now it's like déjà vu all over again."

He sat down heavily in the chair next to Miriana's, "Well I am sick and tired of chasing him. Screw him. He can do what he wants."

"You don't mean that," Bobby said quietly, watching Dean with an almost horrified expression on his face.

"Yes I do Bobby," Dean half whispered, "Sam's gone. He's gone."

He paused for a long moment, staring at the carpet. A look of realization seemed to sweep over him, "I'm not even sure if he's still my brother anymore. If he ever was."

Bobby sighed loudly, pushing himself away from the desk turning his back to Dean. Miriana just stared at the patterns on the rug, plucking at a loose thread in the sleeve of her shirt.

She jumped when Bobby swept his arms along the desk, dislodging a whole pile of books and papers with a single movement. They crashed to the floor with a huge bang, papers fluttering loose and shooting across the floor.

"You stupid, stupid son of a bitch," Bobby roared, rounding on Dean, who got to his feet looking alarmed. Miriana stayed in her seat, shrinking against the threadbare cushions.

"Well boohoo, I'm sorry you're feelings are hurt, princess," Bobby yelled, "You under the impression that family's supposed to make you feel good? Bake you an apple pie, maybe? They're supposed to make you miserable, that's why they're family!"

"I told him you walk out that door, don't come back, and he walked out anyway!" Dean retorted, "That was his choice."

"You sound like a whiny brat," Bobby snarled.

Dean pushed past him, shaking his head.

"No," Bobby said suddenly, "You sound like your Dad. Well, let me tell you something. Your dad was a coward."

Miriana covered her mouth to stifle the little gasp that escaped; being so vicious towards John wouldn't help to win Dean over. She had seen enough of their relationship over the years to know that Dean had idolized his father since he was a toddler.

Dean rounded on Bobby, his face dark with fury, "My dad was a lot of things, but a coward?"

"He'd rather push Sam away than reach out to him," he growled, "Well that don't strike me as brave."

Miriana would never admit it to Dean, but she agreed with Bobby. She had always found John a rather cold hearted man, especially towards his children, which she had never understood. If she had been in his position and had lost as much as he had, she would have held onto her children all the tighter.

"You are a better man that your Daddy ever was," Bobby said, his voice much gentler. Dean scoffed, shaking his head.

"So do us both a favour," Bobby continued, "Don't be him."

"Dean please," Miriana said, finally finding her voice, "Just call him."

He half turned as if to say something to her, then vanished on the spot. Miriana got to her feet, furiously throwing a pillow against the floor as she did.

For God's sake, I'm talking here!" Miriana screeched, glaring at the area where Dean had disappeared, "You angel dickheads!"

Bobby sighed heavily, leaning back against the table in his study, "I don't think that's going to help."

"What do they need him for now?" she snapped, throwing her hands into the air, "Jesus Christ!"

She felt her phone vibrating in her pocket, and she whipped it out, reading the caller ID as it flashed across the screen.

"AJ," she barked, "Now is not the time to ring me asking for money to bail you out of your latest bet gone wrong."

"It's not that," he said, and she instantly noticed the panic in his voice, an unusual sound in voice, so often saturated with sarcasm, "Some real crap is going down, Miriana."

"What do you mean?" she asked, holding up her hands to stop the barrage of questions from Bobby, "What's happening?"

"The apocalypse, Miriana," he said, the panic growing in his voice, "It's all going to happen. Tonight."

"How the hell do you know this?" she snapped.

"Look, I don't know, okay?" he replied, "Just please, I can't talk over this line. I need you to come and see me."

"Give me an hour or so," she said in a tense voice.

"Fine," he said, and the line went dead.

Bobby frowned at her, "What the hell was that about?"

She grabbed her leather jacket from its hook on the back of the door and shrugged it on, "AJ, this...friend of mine. He says he needs to talk to me, something to do with the angels."

She was careful not to tell Bobby exactly what AJ had told her. She didn't think he needed the weight of that information on his shoulders.

"The angels?" Bobby asked, following her to the door, "Are you sure it's a good idea to tangle with them again?"

She sighed heavily as she threw open the front door, "No, probably not. But we need as much information as possible, and AJ can give that to us."

"Miriana-" Bobby began, but she ignored him, unlocking her car and climbing inside.

She glanced at the digital clock on the dashboard of her car as she started the engine and pulled out of Bobby's drive. She could only hope she could get to AJ before the angels did.

The rain swept roads that Miriana followed to AJ's house were deserted, not another human being in sight, even though she drove through several built up suburban areas. Every now and then she would catch a glimpse of someone as they hurried from their cars and through their front doors, as though they were afraid of being caught outside. The sky above her head was a dark, slate grey, menacing and sullen, and there was a definite threat of thunder in the air. She made a brief stop at a gas station to buy a coffee, and was struck by the fear she saw on the faces all around her as they scurried back and forth between their cars and the shop. Maybe they knew the threat of the end of the world hug over them; she wanted to calm their fears and tell them everything would be okay, that Sam, as damaged and messed up as he was, could save them all. He could kill Lilith and prevent the apocalypse, just in time. But she didn't think broadcasting this information to a group of strangers was the best idea, unless she wanted to be bundled away to the nearest mental asylum by a group of men in white coats.

It was raining heavily by the time she got back into the car, great fat droplets bouncing against the tarmac of the road and hammering against the windshield of her car. The almost unearthly chill outside seemed to seep through into her car, and she turned the heating up full blast, trying to stave off the cold that turned her breath to a fine mist in front of her and froze her fingers stiff against the steering wheel. She tried the radio a few times, but she was only greeted with the persistent hissing crackle of static, no matter what station she switched to. A deep, clamorous rumble told her that the thunderstorm had officially started. A minute or so later a blazing streak of ice-white lighting shot across the sky, splitting the murky clouds in two, illuminating the ruffled underbelly of the storm clouds.

She finally reached the lane that led to AJ's house, which stood alone at the end of it. She couldn't see anything of the house, just an indistinct, blurry shape through the silvery sheet of lashing rain. Her car juddered down the road, fighting its way through mud and potholes. It was only once she shuddered to a halt at the end of the road that she saw the house. Or what was left of it.

She threw back her car door and stumbled outside, not caring about the frigid rain that soaked her clothes so they were plastered flat against her numb skin. She stopped a few inches away from the charred, black remains of AJ's house, staring horror-struck at the great, twisted planks of blackened wood and metal, the foundations of the house laid bare like a corpse that had been torn open. A fridge laid in the centre of the rubble, miraculously white and undamaged, a few jagged, broken bottles beer bottles lying inside, bleeding alcohol over the shelves. A few yards away, a charred sofa lay on its side, its stuffing protruding from between the splintered struts of the wooden frame. She gave a block of debris a kick, and a whole pile of ash coated detritus collapsed with a loud crash, releasing a cloud of black dust that was instantly dampened by the rain.

"AJ!" she shouted, her voice carried away on the furious wind, "AJ!"

There was no reply, just the continued screeching of the wind and the hissing of the rain. She was soaked and freezing; the cold wind bit through her sodden clothes and the short lengths of her dark hair whipped around her face. She stumbled forwards a few more steps, fighting against the gale force wind that battered her backwards. She took a few tentative steps into the debris, picking her way over great beams of wood and shattered pieces of furniture, bowing her head to protect her eyes from the stinging rain. There was no sign of him anywhere in the wreckage; part of her hoped he had escaped from whoever had razed his house to the ground, but she doubted he had.

She stopped dead when she caught sight of something that looked awfully like a hand sticking up from the wreckage. She leapt over the rubbish that lay in jagged piles all around her feet and knelt down beside the hand. She dug through the wreckage, feeling splinters pierce through her skin, bloodying her fingertips. She stopped when she felt her hands collide with something cold and slimy, hoping it wasn't what she thought it was. She pulled a beam of wood aside, caught a brief glimpse of a charred and blackened figure and jumped backwards, her stomach doing back flips, the taste of bitter bile in her throat.

She raced back over the remains of AJ's house, far quicker than before in her desperation to escape from the twisted, mangled corpse buried in the middle. She threw herself back into her car, heaving great breaths of the warm, clean air inside her car. She rested her head against the steering wheel, droplets of rainwater from her hair rolling down over the leather upholstery of her seat. Back inside the car, she could no longer see the charred mess that was once AJ's home, it was just a blurry shape hidden by the rain.

Her first thought had been demons, but it didn't take her long to change her mind and blame the angels. She couldn't understand why they had done it, but she felt certain she could feel the lingering traces of angelic power around the wreckage. She felt oddly upset; she had never liked AJ particularly, but he hadn't deserved that.

She sat immobile in her car, listening to the rain hammering against the roof of her car, pondering over what AJ had hurriedly told over the phone. Now she would never truly know what it was he had known. It must have been powerful information, whatever it was. She didn't think a bit of idle gossip would have had him and his house burned to the ground. He had said the apocalypse would start tonight; a quick glance at the clock told her it was quarter past one in the afternoon. Not that long to go until nightfall hit, and if AJ had been correct, not that long until the world ended. She didn't want to believe what she had been told, but it did seem an odd coincidence that just a few short hours ago Dean had disappeared right before her eyes. If the world was ending the angels would want Dean kept safe for when they needed him, she reasoned. And then there was the weather and the pervading sense of fear in the air, mirrored on every face she saw around her, as though everyone could somehow sense the threat hanging over them.

She drove to the nearest motel, not caring about the price, just desperate to get a warm shower, crawl into bed and pull the covers over her head and try and drown out the world for a few short hours. Maybe she would wake up just in time to watch the planet burn to a crisp. And AJ would probably be up there somewhere laughing at her.

She slouched wearily down the dimly lit hallway to her room, her heavy bag slung over her shoulder, the strap digging into her shoulder. She fumbled with the door for a few long seconds, struggling to manipulate her cold hands to fit the key into the lock. Eventually, the door swung open and she reached up blearily to switch the light on, as the thick curtains were closed across the window, when she realized it was already on. And there was someone already in her room.

Embriel and Castiel stood side by side, the both of them watching her carefully, as though they expected her to suddenly drop dead on the spot. She stayed leaning against the door, rubbing a hand across her forehead.

"Why do you have to be here?" she groaned, ridiculously feeling on the verge of hysterical tears, "Why?"

She saw Embriel cast Castiel a worried look, and then she swept forwards and gently ushered Miriana into the room, rubbing her hand up and down on her arm, trying to warm her up.

"Come on sweetheart," she soothed, shutting the door with a snap behind her.

Miriana shoved her away angrily, too tired to care about politeness, "Get off me, I am perfectly capable of walking into the room, I don't need to be chaperoned. I may not be as holy and great as you two, but I'm not a complete invalid."

Embriel backed away slowly like Miriana was some sort of volatile and highly dangerous animal in a zoo.

Miriana leaned against the kitchen counter, "Would either of you care to explain just what the hell you're doing lurking in my room?"

She noticed that as her eyes passed over Castiel, he dropped his to the floor, shuffling awkwardly on the spot.

They said nothing, but Embriel gracefully moved across the room, pulling a stick of what looked like charcoal from her pocket and drawing an elaborate symbol on the door. Miriana watched, confused and utterly frustrated that no one was answering her question. After the sigil was finished, Embriel walked back over to Castiel and handed two small hessian bags to him, patting his hand in a motherly sort of way before she disappeared on the spot.

"Hex bags?" Miriana asked, bewildered. She folded her arms across her chest, determined to be given an explanation, "Would you mind telling me just what exactly what it going on, please?"

He raised his eyes to hers, and she instantly felt all her anger dissolve away like it had never even been there in the first place. She shivered all over, feeling the odd sensation pass through her, sinking into her bones, making her heart hitch in her chest. Those eyes hadn't lost any of their ferocious power.

"Miriana," he said, his voice oddly formal, although she thought he lingered over her name a little longer than necessary, "I need to talk to you. Please."


	66. Heart of Glass

_Hey, a short chapter, but I thought I'd be nice and update quickly. The next one will be longer, I promise. I don't seem to be getting many reviews at the moment; I don't mind 'cos I'm sure you guys are way too busy to spend your time constantly reading and reviewing my story, but I just hope it isn't getting boring or that you don't like the way it's going, cos I'm always open to suggestions! I just hope you aren't fed up of me! :) Anyway, a huge thanks as always to anyone who's left a review or a favourite, and I hope you enjoy this chapter. Nearly finished this fanfiction now! I honestly didn't think it would take this long! :)_

Miriana took a deep fortifying breath, "Alright. Talk."

His eyes instantly dropped to floor again, and Miriana let out the tiniest little breath of relief. She had forgotten how powerful his eyes were.

"It's...complicated," he said quietly.

"Oh for God's sake," she grumbled, "Look, if you've come here to shuffle awkwardly and dance around the subject, then just go. I don't have time for you and your tortured soul right now."

He looked up at her then, and she instantly regretted being so cruel. His eyes burned with anguish, turning them the colour of the sky before nightfall.

"Why are you so wet?" he asked suddenly.

She glanced in the mirror; god, she looked like a mess. Her short dark hair hung lank around her face, strands of it plastered against her forehead and cheekbones, and her eyeliner had run down her face, leaving smudges of grey underneath her eyes so she looked like she was wearing some sort of bad Halloween makeup. Her clothes were plastered against her body, and the damp material felt itchy and uncomfortable against her skin.

"A friend of mine," she said absently, wrenching her eyes away from the monstrosity in the mirror, "He's dead. His house was burned down. I was...looking for him in the wreckage...in the rain."

"I'm sorry," he said, his gravelly voice flat and emotionless.

"I'm sure you are," Miriana said bitterly, "But I'm guessing it was your lot who did it. I have the feeling he knew something your big brothers didn't want him to."

He refused to meet her eyes, and he kept his mouth firmly shut.

"In fact, he said something very interesting before he died," she continued, "He reckoned the apocalypse is going to start tonight. In a few hours, in fact."

He looked up suddenly, and she was sure she could see a flash of panic in his eyes, "He was wrong."

"Was he?" Miriana said coldly, "Then why do you sound so worried?"

He sighed heavily, his shoulders tense, "I didn't come here to talk about this."

"Tough," Miriana snapped, "I want to talk about it. Tell me the truth, Castiel. Is the apocalypse going to start tonight?"

He paused for a long moment, and when he finally spoke his voice was laced with a sort of quiet despair, "Yes."

It felt as if all the air had been sucked from the room, leaving her breathless. She drew a shaking breath into her lungs and fought to keep her voice as even as possible, "Then why aren't you out there fighting to stop it?"

He seemed to wrestle with an answer for a long minute, and he kept his eyes firmly trained away from her, "Because we aren't going to stop it."

"Excuse me?" she said, unable to stop her voice from coming out oddly strangled.

"We aren't going to stop it," he repeated in cold voice.

"Yes, I heard that bit," she hissed, pushing herself away from the counter and stepping closer to him, "Why?"

"They want paradise," he answered dully, "And this is the way to get it. Let Lucifer burn the earth down, destroy him, and then start again."

Miriana felt her stomach turn over, "And...What about all the people? What happens to us?"

"Those that survive will be granted paradise," he continued in the same dull monotone, "And the rest will die."

Miriana covered her mouth with a trembling hand, "So...I'll be dead in a few months."

He looked up at her then, stepping a little closer to her, "Don't say that."

"Why?" she asked indignantly, "It's the truth. I'm a hunter; every demon will be trying to get rid of me."

"I'll look after you," he vowed. He was now so close she could the faintest trace of heat emanating from him, and it made her whole body quiver.

She laughed bitterly, "Well, you have done such a good job up until now. The bruises are still healing."

"I need to explain, Miriana," he implored, "That's why I'm here."

She gestured to the hex bags lying on the table, "And what are those for?"

"To protect us," he replied, "To keep their eyes away from us."

"I don't...just...why are you here?" she staggered over the words.

He closed the gap between them even further, so they were just inches apart, "I need to tell you the way I feel."

She blinked rapidly a few times, as if she was trying to clear her head, "You said...you said you didn't feel anything for me. You said you didn't want me."

He took her hands between his, caressing his thumb across her knuckles, "I lied. I had to lie, to keep you safe."

She thought she should pull her hands away, but the warmth of his skin on hers felt too good to resist. She was tired of fighting; she wanted to surrender to all her overwhelming emotions.

"I can't do this," she whispered, "I can't keep feeling like this. Like I'm choking without you, like I can't breathe. It hurts too much"

"I know," he said, pressing his forehead against hers, "I'm sorry for everything I did. But I didn't have a choice, Miriana. They will kill you for what's happened between us. We're trained to be emotionless, to not feel anything. I'm born from fire, Miriana. Everything I feel is enhanced tenfold, and they can't stand it. Angels have fallen for human lovers before, turned their backs on heaven, and it's considered the blackest sin. Humans are the lowest life form to the rest of them."

"That's why they took you away from me," she said, realisation in her tone.

"Yes," he breathed, relieved her anger seemed to be melting away. He continued to rub soothing circles against her fingers, relishing the feeling of her skin.

"I fought for you," he whispered lowering his lips so they hovered over hers. Her breath came quickly against his lips in short sharp gasps, "I'd do anything for you."

He slid his hands up her arms and over the smooth curve of her shoulders, cradling her face. "Cas..." she choked out, her lips trembling. He covered her mouth with his, parting her lips and sliding his tongue tentatively inside her mouth. She was unyielding at first, holding herself completely still, but after a few seconds she surrendered, kissing him back as hard as he kissed her, until she felt certain her lips would bruise. She weakly grasped at his arms, feeling so fragile against him and his strength and power. She swayed on the spot, her head swimming with the taste and smell of him, and she felt one of his arms slide around her waist and pull her tight against him. His heart was thumping erratically against her chest, matching the beat of hers with perfect synchronicity. She couldn't breathe, couldn't even think straight; she had forgotten how much she missed the breathless, exhilarating feeling of being with him. Her insides felt as if they had been doused in propane and set alight, as if she had been given a transfusion of the heavenly fire he had been born from.

He pulled away suddenly, leaving her gasping and clinging to him like he was the only solid ground in a storm. He didn't remove his arms from around her waist, and the hand that cradled her face trailed down over her cheeks, down the slender column of her throat and across the smooth skin of her chest, his fingers coming to rest splayed out over her where her heart thundered.

"I promise you," he whispered, "When the apocalypse comes, you'll be safe."

He felt her stiffen in his arms, like a bolt of electricity had passed through her body, every muscle tensing as hard as iron.

"What's wrong?" he murmured.

She pushed his arms away from her waist and took a step backwards, rubbing her forehead.

"When the apocalypse happens?" she quoted, "Why does it have to happen?"

"It's too late to stop it," he said, "There's nothing we can do now."

She regarded him carefully, her eyes searching his, "How long did you know about this? Since you first knew me?"

"No," he said hastily, "No of course not!"

"When?" she asked shortly.

"When they took me to heaven's prison," he replied, "They told me then."

She sighed heavily, "There must be something we can do."

"There isn't," he said quickly, "I can't do anything."

"Can't or won't?" she asked coldly.

"Miriana, don't do this," he beseeched, "If I could stop this, I would. I swear to you."

"All those people, Cas," she said, a quiet note of horror in her voice, "I thought angels were supposed to help people, not watch them all burn. But I suppose they're just collateral damage to you. Why should I be any different? Why should I believe you care about me the way you say you do?"

"Because I love you," he blurted out.

She froze on the spot, her dark eyes widening until they seemed to take up half of her pale face, "What?" she asked in a tiny voice.

"I love you," he said again, far slower and calmer.

He was horrified to find the sheen of tears spring up in her eyes, "What are you doing to me?" she asked, her voice choked.

"I'm not doing anything to do you," he said, genuine confusion in his voice. He had thought that telling someone you loved them would have a much more positive response.

"Yes you are," she said, the tears spilling over her eyes, "You're breaking my heart, Cas. You're making me want you all over again, and I know I can't have you!"

"You've already got me," he said, stepping forwards and taking her hands again, raising them to his lips and kissing the back of them gently.

She sharply pulled her hands away, "No I haven't! You said yourself this," she exclaimed, gesturing between the two of them, "Is a sin and they'll punish you for it! And I don't know what they did to you up there, but they did something that made you so cold and cruel and heartless. And you're not like that."

She stepped forwards again and reached out to brush his cheeks, running her fingers over the rough stubble that covered the sharp line of his jaw, "You're gentle and so compassionate, and I can't bear to think of them hurting you."

He shut his eyes when her fingers traced his familiar features, over the bridge of his straight nose and the curve of his lips, "The pain is worth it."

"No it's not," she said, dropping her hands, "Not for either of us."

"Besides," she added in a cold voice, "I'll be dead soon. I'll have burnt along with the rest of the earth. Then you won't have to worry about me anymore."

"No," he said, trying to reign in the anger in his tone, "I've told you, I'll keep you safe. You'll be granted paradise."

"I don't want paradise!" she shouted, rounding on him, ignoring the alarmed look on his face, "Not at the price it comes at! All I want is you."

""But I'll be there," he said exasperated, "I can be with you."

She shook her head sadly, "Do you really believe that? If the angels are ruling the earth, then they definitely won't let us be with each other. And after everything I've done, I hardly think Zachariah will let me just stroll into paradise. I'm a sinner and a blasphemer-don't forget that."

"God will provide," he said, conjuring up the only argument he could think of.

She scoffed, "God? I don't even think he exists, and if he does, he doesn't give a shit about any of us."

Her words seemed to physically sting, "He does care. He loves his children."

"Yeah, you guys, maybe," Miriana said, "But not us lowly humans. He doesn't really care what happens to us. Just like you don't care what happens to me, and I don't care what happens to you."

She may as well have plunged a blade into his chest; he felt a sharp, agonizing starburst of pain in his chest, squeezing the breath from his lungs.

"You don't mean that," he murmured, reaching out to touch her. He dropped his arm when she stepped back; her usually warm chocolate brown eyes were as cold as ice.

"Yes I do," she said, her voice completely dead and devoid of emotion.

He couldn't speak his throat felt so constricted and tight, he seemed unable to pull air into his lungs. She folded her arms resolutely across her chest, her face contorted into a cruel mask.

"Just go," she hissed, "Get back to heaven, and sit up there on your clouds and watch us burn."

She turned away from him, squeezing her eyes tight shut to stem the flow of tears. She didn't want him to go; she wanted him to stay and chase away the fears that were hanging so heavily over her. But she was so angry and tired and absolutely scared stiff.

"Miriana...please," he whispered, his gravelly voice saturated with pain.

"GO!" she yelled, whirling around to face him.

He didn't linger; he was gone in an instant. She fought the urge to pick something up and throw it as hard as she could. She struggled out of her damp, rain soaked clothes and hurled them across the room, storming into the bathroom and savagely twisting the tap so blistering water gushed from the shower head. She stepped under the shower, hissing in pain when the scorching water hit her skin, turning it raw pink. She sank down, curling up against the bottom of the shower, resting her back against the cool tiles. The burn of anger seemed to fade the longer the water ran, and it wasn't long before she felt hysterical sobs rack her body, leaving her shaking and fighting for breath under the hammering fall of water.


	67. Apocalypse Please

_So, we're finally at the last chapter. I honestly never thought this fanfiction would be this long, it's taken almost a year to write! :) Anyway, hope you all enjoy this chapter and it's a good enough ending. A huge, massive, ginormous thank you to everyone who's ever reviewed, added this story to their favourites or story alert, I can't tell you how much I appreciate it. All the great reviews have given me the motivation to carry on with this story, and I hope you've all enjoyed it from page one (I know some bits of it aren't that fantastic). I wish I could give you all a hug! The first chapter of the sequel- if you want one, that is- will be up next week. I've already got the plot roughly sorted and a little bit of it written, so I'll get that out a.s.a.p. So again, another huge thank you to you all! :) And of course to Eric Kripke and Co. for giving me such great material and characters to work with, and to all the boys of Supernatural for being so gorgeous! :)_

Castiel didn't know what to do with himself after his brutally painful conversation with Miriana. He didn't want to go and sit somewhere quiet to think like he usually did, but there was no one he wanted to talk to, no one who could make feel him feel any less miserable; not even Embriel. So he decided to return to the room where they were holding Dean, through lack of anything better to do. He didn't really want to, as he hardly expected the elder Winchester to have lost his surly, biting attitude in the time he'd been away, and he knew he would make him feel even worse. But he didn't have anywhere else to go.

When he returned to the elaborately gilded room, his sharp ears picked up the faint bleeping sound that emanated from that odd contraption that Dean called a 'mobile'. Dean was waving it around in front of him, frowning and muttering, and Cas soon realized he was trying to contact Sam. He would never reach him, and if he did, it might already be too late.

"You can't reach him, Dean," he stated unhelpfully, "You're outside your coverage zone."

Dean didn't turn to face him, but he saw him slowly slip his phone back into his jeans pocket, "What are you gonna do to Sam?" he asked in a quietly controlled voice.

He sighed heavily, moving across the room to lean against the wall, "Nothing. He's going to do it to himself."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean growled, his eyebrows furrowing into a dark line above his stormy green eyes.

What was even the point of answering him? Dean would only be as furious as Miriana was, and he didn't think he could stand being subject to such blistering anger and fury again. And if he told Dean too much, he would only face Zachariah's wrath. He dropped his eyes to the floor.

"Oh right, right," Dean said in a resigned tone, "Gotta toe the company line."

He paused for a long second, looking him up and down with cold eyes, "Why are you here, Cas?"

"We've been through much together you and I," he said formally, "And I just wanted to say, I'm sorry it ended like this."

Dean raised his eyebrows as if surprised, "Sorry?" he said in an almost disbelieving tone.

He let out a sharp little laugh, turned away for a brief second, then pulled his arm back and slammed his fist into the side of Castiel's face, with all the strength he possessed. He felt the blow, felt the sharp crack of knuckles against his cheek, but there was no pain, not even the slightest spark. It didn't even register on an emotional level; his fight with Miriana seemed to have drained him of everything he had.

Dean spun around and let out the tiniest little hiss of pain, clutching his knuckles. _Jesus, what is that guy made of, granite or something? _He thought to himself, clutching his throbbing fist in his hand, determined not to let his pain show. He gave himself a second to get over the pain by swearing colourfully inside his head before he could trust himself to speak again.

"It's Armageddon, Cas, you need a bigger word than sorry!" he snapped, turning back round to face him.

"Try to understand," he implored, "This is long foretold, this is your-"

"Destiny?" Dean finished his sentence for him, "Don't give me that holy crap. Destiny...God's plan? It's all a bunch of lies, you poor stupid son of a bitch! It's just a way for you bosses to keep me and keep you in line!"

Why did everyone always insist on shouting at him all the time? Miriana, Dean- all he was trying to do was be a good solider like he always had been, and keep the woman he loved safe. He couldn't help the fact that those interests often clashed. He couldn't help the fact that every decision he made seemed to be the wrong one. He didn't mean to hurt anyone; it wasn't in his nature.

"You know what's real?" Dean asked, "People. Families. Miriana. That's real. And you're gonna watch them all burn?"

His heart did the usual hiccup at the sound of her name, but he ignored it, focusing on the burn of anger instead.

"What is so worth saving?" he demanded, "I see nothing but pain here. I see inside you, all your guilt, your anger, confusion. In paradise all is forgiven. You'll be at peace. Even with Sam."

He had to look away from the disgusted look in Dean's eyes. Both Dean and Miriana had the exact same facial expressions when they were angry. If he didn't know better, he'd have thought the two of them were brother and sister.

It was impossible to ignore Dean when he very deliberately leaned down and caught his eyes, "You can take your peace...and shove it up your lily white ass."

He was so tired of the argument, but Dean carried on regardless, "Because I'll take the pain and the guilt, I'll even take Sam as is. It's a lot better than being some Stepford bitch in paradise."

He tried to get a word in edgeways, but Dean just kept talking, and he turned away, "This is simple Cas!" Dean snapped, "No more crap about being a good soldier. There is a right and there is a wrong here, and you know it."

"Look at me!" he barked, shoving at his shoulder, "You know it."

"Now you were gonna help me once, weren't you?" Dean asked, pleading in his tone. Of course he remembered it, that night he had desperately flitted all over the earth trying to escape from Zachariah's ever determined angels and tell Miriana and Dean all the awful things he had learned.

"You were gonna warn me before they dragged you back off to bible camp. Help me now, please," Dean begged. An unbidden thought of Miriana came into his head; he'd told her he'd do anything for her, and he hadn't been lying. There was a chance, a fast fading hope, that he might be able to do something...but the more he thought about it, the more he realized it was a terrible idea. There wasn't anything he could do, he just wasn't strong enough.

"What would you have me do?" he asked quietly.

"Get me to Sam, we can stop this before it's too late," Dean replied, hope colouring his voice.

"If I do that," he said, "We'll all be hunted. We'll all be killed."

"If there was anything worth dying for," Dean said, his voice suddenly quiet, in sharp contrast to his furious shouts of before, "This is it."

He shook his head slowly; it wasn't worth dying for. It was pointless and hopeless, and if he did this, he would never see Miriana again. And that thought hurt more than anything.

Dean gave him one long, disgusted look, "You spineless, soulless son of a bitch."

He paced away from him, his tone full of quiet fury, "What do you care about dying, you're already dead, we're done."

He felt that odd sting in his eyes and the burn in the back of his throat, and he spoke his voice was oddly strangled, "Dean..."

"We're done," Dean snapped, his tone final.

He didn't linger, he fled from the room like he had fled from Miriana's, not entirely sure where to go next.

Miriana didn't remember falling asleep; she remembered crying a lot and crawling into bed, soaking the pillow with her tears. The next thing she knew, she was being roused awake by the shrill sound of her mobile ringing. Grumbling, she struggled out of the curled up position she was lying in and fumbled around on the bed covers until her fingers closed around her mobile. Her cheeks were sticky with dried tears and her throat felt tight and dry. She cleared it before she answered her phone in as even a voice as she could manage.

"Hello?" she said.

"Miriana, I need to tell you something," said Nate's panicked voice, "It's about Sam."

"What about Sam?" she muttered groggily.

"We have to stop him killing Lilith," Nate said, his voice tense. She could practically see his long, lanky frame twitching with nerves.

"How do you know about that?" she demanded.

"It doesn't matter," Nate snapped, "But listen. Sam's gonna kill Lilith right? But killing Lilith is the final seal. If he's kills her, the apocalypse will be kick started."

A cold, sickly feeling washed over her, chilling her blood to ice in her veins. So Castiel and AJ had been right. The apocalypse was going to start tonight; just not in the way she could have imagined. She wondered if Castiel knew of Sam's role; he must do, she reasoned to herself. That was the reason he had let Sam out of the panic room in the first place.

"Where is he?" she asked, swallowing all her fear and trying to do something useful. It wasn't too late. There was still a little time.

"A convent in Ilchester, Maryland," Nate replied, "I'm on my way there now."

"Alone?" Miriana shrieked. This was far too dangerous for Nate to caught get up in. He was just a kid, far too young to be chasing after powerful demons and getting involved in heaven's grandiose plans.

"Calm down, Miriana," said Nate, his tone returning to its typical whiny teenage note, "I'm fine. And besides, I'm not just sitting on my ass and waiting for this to happen. You wouldn't."

"Don't model yourself after me, Nate," she said in a weary voice, "It's not a good idea. Promise you'll wait for me to get there before you do anything."

"Whatever," Nate muttered, "Look, just get your ass in gear and stop wallowing. It's Saint Mary's convent. Get moving."

After that he abruptly hung up the phone. She was so surprised by his brusque behaviour that for a minute she just stared at the phone clasped in her hands before she came to her senses and flung herself off the bed. She changed quickly into a pair of jeans and a shirt, briefly running a comb through her hair, wincing when it tangled in the knots. She slipped on her leather jacket, and stuffed all off her possessions into her bag as quickly as she could manage, and grabbed her keys from the table by the door, trying hard to ignore the coil of dread in her stomach.

There was nowhere on the earth that could him peace tonight. Usually the secluded, golden beach in Crete calmed Castiel down, but tonight the indigo waters and dusky evening sky just felt cold and indifferent to his suffering. Lucifer was about to rise and the battle was about to begin, but he had no one to comfort him and nowhere to go. He thought that Zachariah might have found him and given him another list of tasks to do, but evidently he didn't require his help. Why would he; everything was already in place for the aftermath of Lucifer being released from hell, including the plans for Sam and Dean Winchester. When Dean found out what he was to be used for, Castiel only hoped he gave Zachariah absolute hell over it.

He flitted all over the earth, trying to find somewhere quiet enough for him to sit and think for a while, but he found nowhere. When he finally came to a stop, he found himself somewhere painfully familiar. Miriana's bedroom. He hadn't even intended to go there, but he had somehow subconsciously made the decision to stop there. There was no sign that she'd been in there recently as everything remained in the same place; well almost everything. He noticed that there was a heavy looking, leather bound book lying on the desk by the door. Ever curious, he moved across the room and flipped open the first page to find a picture of a laughing baby, her chubby little arms outstretched towards the camera. The next page showed another picture of the same rosy cheeked baby, this time clutching a dark haired woman, who was smiling widely. It was only when he studied the woman's familiar face that he realized with a jolt that the pretty baby in her arms was Miriana. He flipped through the next few pages, each one of them showing Miriana at a different stage of her life; a chubby, bright eyed little toddler being helped to walk by her father, a lanky limbed child with mud stained knees to a slightly gawky, awkward looking teenager, mostly dressed in oversized band t-shirts and smiling shyly at the camera. Most of the pictures of Miriana's teenage years showed Nate, barely older than a toddler, clinging to Miriana like a limpet, an adoring expression on his face. He flipped through a few more pages, until he came that showed Miriana on her 21st birthday, her arms around a young looking Sam and a slightly inebriated looking Dean. He traced his fingers over her wide, bright smile, frozen on the glossy page, feeling an odd lump rise in his throat. All that life, all those memories could be so easily lost, burnt away to ashes in the final conflict between Michael and Lucifer. Without even thinking, he pulled the picture of the closest thing he had once had to friends from its frame on the page and slipped it in the pocket of his trench coat. He glanced out of the long window at the end of the room; there was still a band of a pale light along the horizon. There was still time. He took one last glance around the room, taking in a deep breath of the perfume that lingered in the air, very aware it would no doubt be the last time, then returned to Dean.

As hard as she tried to keep her mind away from him, Miriana couldn't help but let her thoughts drift back to Castiel. There were no distractions on the long, dark roads on which she was driving, nothing to keep her mind off him. She hadn't meant to be so cruel towards him but the fear that had been steadily growing all day had made her lash out. She wanted to apologize, wanted to tell him she loved him too, but she didn't think she could face him again, nor she did honestly believe he would want to talk to her. She always screwed everything up; her whole life was just a catalogue of mistakes and bad decisions. She wondered if it would ever end.

She soon saw the shadow of the convent looming on the horizon, crumbling and dilapidated. It was clearly not visited often, as the road that led to it was potholed and uneven. After a few minutes, she saw a dark shape beside the road, and when she drove a little closer, she saw Nate's lanky figure leaning against the side of the car, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. His head shot up when he saw the headlights and heard the crunch of gravel as Miriana's juddered down the road. He threw his arms around as soon as she stepped out of the car, and she felt the slightest tremor in his thin frame. He was scared. Really scared. She hugged back as hard as she could, patting his back. He felt cold, even though he was wearing a thick leather jacket.

"Are you okay?" she asked tentatively, her voice muffled by his shoulder.

He instantly released her, a broad but somewhat forced smile on his face, "I'm great!" he said, his tone falsely bright. She gave him a weak smile back, not entirely convinced by his bravado.

"Is that where Lilith is?" she asked, nodding towards the ramshackle ruins of the convent.

"Yeah," he replied, eyeing the silhouette warily, "There's a ton of other demons as well. I don't know if Sam's here yet. I haven't seen a car, but he could be round the other side."

"Well then," Miriana in a businesslike voice, opening the boot of her car, "We'd better get going."

She opened the clasp of the demon proof box and pulled free the knife, sliding it through her belt. Nate watched her apprehensively as she pulled two shotguns free, handing one to him along with several rounds of rock salt bullets.

"What if there's loads of them, Miriana?" he asked, all pretence and false bravery gone from his voice. She turned to look at him, his face suddenly and painfully young.

"I've got your back," she said, thumping his shoulder gently with her closed fist.

He nodded quickly, taking a deep breath and loading the first round of rock salt into his shotgun. They set off walking, picking their way over the rubble and tangled briars that blanketed the ground beneath their feet. It was dreadfully quiet, not even the sounds of birds or other wildlife. Maybe they knew what was about to happen and had decided to go somewhere else. She couldn't say she blamed them.

"Your bruises look better," Nate said suddenly.

"They feel better," she said, surreptitiously brushing over the areas on her cheeks that had been bruised.

"Have you seen him since?" Nate asked, the slightest note of contempt in his voice.

She paused for a second, wondering whether or not to lie. "Yes," she said eventually.

"What did he have to say for himself?" he asked coolly.

"Nate, let's not get drawn into this argument again," Miriana said wearily.

"Well, I'm sorry, but he's such a d-"

She cut him off by throwing an arm across his chest. She had just caught a flash of movement that looked oddly like car headlights in the distance.

"What?" he asked, tensing all over.

"I think I just saw a car," she replied, squinting at the dark horizon, "Let's just keep walking."

They kept walking across the uneven ground, Miriana keeping her eyes trained on the spot where she had the flash of movement. It was only once they got closer that Miriana saw the battered yellow car.

"Bloody hell!" she barked suddenly, so Nate jumped about a foot in the air, "That's Ruby's car!"

"The demon that's with Sam?" Nate questioned.

"Yeah," Miriana replied, breaking into a run, aware that they had a while before they would reach the convent, "Hurry up, Nate."

Castiel knew from the second the foundations of Chuck's house starting shaking that he was in some serious trouble. He thought there was a slim chance he might escape, but any hopes he had were effectively removed as the plaster on the walls started to crack and flake away.

"Oh man, not again," yelled Chuck, as the cupboards sprung open, releasing a rain of plates and cups that fell to the floor and smashed. The high pitched whining in the room increased tenfold, until the noise of it sent sharp needles of pain through his head.

"It's the Archangel," he roared at Dean struggling to make himself heard of the cacophony of noise. Dean turned to him, his eyes wide with panic.

"I'll hold them off, I'll hold them all off," he yelled, "Just stop Sam."

He lifted his arm and placed his palm flat across Dean's forehead, concentrating as hard as he could through the noise, focusing on the dilapidated convent. A second later he felt air underneath his fingers, proving that Dean had gone where he needed to go.

The light was getting brighter and brighter by the second until it made his eyes ache, and the pressure in the room seemed to increase until it was hard to breathe. Regardless, he raised his chin and squared his shoulders, determined to face almost certain death with as much dignity as he could manage. He couldn't fight off the archangel; he would never be strong enough to bring down something so powerful, but he could give the Winchesters a little time.

He felt Chuck's hand on his shoulder; frowning, he looked down at the prophet, not entirely sure what the gesture meant under such circumstances. He dropped his hand instantly, looking sheepish, lowering his gaze to the floor. He felt the pain start then, a dull ache in his chest, twisting around his spine. He squeezed his eyes tight shut against the burn of white light, feeling a ripping sensation in his chest, as if something was pulling him into two pieces, tearing him apart right down the middle. There was time for one last thought of Miriana, and a silent prayer that she would survive and live happily before his world exploded.

Miriana's legs were burning by the time she had reached the wrought iron gates outside the convent and every ragged breath burned in her throat, but there wasn't time to stop. Every second wasted was one step closer to Lucifer being released from hell and bringing the apocalypse with him. She sprinted down the gravel path that led to the crumbling front steps of the convent, spraying stones over the overgrown grass. Nate was close behind her, gasping for breath but easily keeping up with her with his long legged stride. She threw herself against the huge wooden doors, wrenching the iron handle with one hand, throwing all her weight against the decaying wood. She let out a scream of frustration when it refused to budge, merely creaking in protest as she slammed her fists against the door. She intended to test one of the boarded windows on the bottom floor of the convent, hoping that there was a gap big enough to crawl through, when Nate grabbed her arm in a vice like grip, pulling her back.

"What?" she yelled, frustrated.

He said nothing, but merely pointed towards the far end of the convent. She followed his trembling finger towards the windows and watched in horror as a vivid, bright white light began to seep through the cracks in the boards over the windows.

"Oh my God," she whispered, frozen to the spot as the light spilled out further and further over the dry, overgrown grass. There was the slightest noise that could be heard over the whispering of the grass, a high pitched whine that was discomforting, and she felt something like a wave of electricity pass over her, seeming to stretch her skin tight over her bones.

"Move," she breathed out, "Nate, we need to move."

She tugged at his arm, but he stayed glued to the spot, his face a mask of horror.

"Nate, come on," she shrieked as the whine began to grow in volume and intensity. He finally seemed to come back to his senses, following Miriana as she raced back down the steps of the convent, her heart thundering in her chest. The shocking white light was almost blinding now; Miriana had to squint her eyes against the onslaught as the two of them raced back across the vast expanse of waste ground towards their cars. The whine had turned into a single long roar of noise that seemed to press painfully hard against Miriana's eardrums, making her head throb. A sudden gale had started up, tangling Miriana's hair and kicking dust up into her eyes.

They were close to their cars now; they were sprinting so fast, spurred on by adrenalin. Just before they reached them, there was a noise like an explosion behind them, and Miriana felt some invisible force throw her forward, sending her flying over the ground and finally skidding to a halt, cutting open the knees of her jeans on the jagged stones that littered the ground. She glanced around for Nate, and felt a surge of panic when she saw him lying on his back, spread eagled, blood streaming from his temple. She crawled over the stones, shaking him and shouting his name over the roar of the wind and the painfully high pitched scream of noise that had now reached such an intensity she was forced to cover her ears. She glanced back over at the convent, or rather the space where the convent used to be, and saw a huge column of burning white light spearing the dark, turbulent skies, reaching right up into the heavens, blotting out the stars and bathing the land all around them in cold, harsh white light. It was creeping outwards in all directions, speeding towards them with frightening speed. With her last vestiges of strength, she grabbed hold of Nate's jacket and heaved his long, lanky body across the stones, pulling him behind the shelter of her car, just before another explosion rocked the landscape, the white light washing over them and covering Miriana's vision in a blanket of painful white.


End file.
